THE  KING'S  MIRROR 


BY  ANTHONY   HOPE. 


The  King's  Mirror. 

Illustrated.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 
Mr.  Hope's  new  romance  pictures  the  life  of  a  prince 
and  king  under  conditions  modern,  and  yet  shared  by  rep- 
resentatives of  royalty  almost  throughout  history.  The 
interactions  of  the  people  and  royalty,  the  aspirations  of  the 
pnnce,  the  intrigues  sur  ounding  him,  the  cares  of  state, 
and  the  craving  for  love,  are  some  ot  the  motives  developed, 
with  the  accompaniments  of  incident  and  adventure,  where- 
in the  author  proves  his  mastery  of  suspended  imerest  and 
dramatic  effect.  It  is  a  romance  which  will  not  only  absorb 
the  attention  of  readers,  but  impress  them  with  a  new  admi- 
ration for  the  author's  power. 


The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio. 

With  Photogravure  Frontispiece  by  S.  W.  Van 

Schaick.     12010.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
"  No  adventures  were   ever  better  worth   telling  than 
those  of  Count  Antonio.  .   .  .  The  author  knows  full  well 
how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his  readers 
under  the  spell  of  his  magic. — Boston  Herald. 

The  God  in  the  Car. 

New  edition.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 
"  A  very  remarkable  book,  deserving  of  critical  analysis 
impossible  within  our  limit ;  brilliant,  but  not  superficial ; 
well  considered,  but  not  elaborated;  constructed  with  the 
proverbial  art  that  conceals,  but  yet  allows  itself  to  be  en- 
joyed by  readers  to  whom  fine  literary  method  is  a  keen 
pleasure." — London  World. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


"I'm   not  a  king  lor  my  own   pleasure.  ' 

(See  page  14.) 


THE 
KING'S  MIBBOB 


A 

BY  ANTHONY  HOPE 

Author  of  The  Chronicles  of  Count 
Antonio  *»  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda  •» 
The  God  in  the  Car  •»  Phroso  •» 
Dupert  of  Hentzau,  etc.  «••»•»•» 


NEW    YODK 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 
1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  1899, 
BY  ANTHONY  HOPE   HAWKINS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


p? 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGR 

I. — A   PIOUS   HYPERBOLE I 

II. — A   BIRD   WITHOUT   WINGS II 

III.— SOME   SECRET   OPINIONS 22 

IV. — TWO   OF   MY  MAKERS 34 

V. — SOMETHING  ABOUT  VICTORIA        ....  47 

VI. — A   STUDENT   OF   LOVE  AFFAIRS         .           .           .  60 

VII. — THINGS  NOT  TO  BE  NOTICED        ....  73 

VIII. — DESTINY  IN  A  PINAFORE 84 

IX. — JUST   WHAT  WOULD   HAPPEN             ....  96 

X. — OF  A   POLITICAL  APPOINTMENT        ....  log 

XI. — AN   ACT   OF  ABDICATION 122 

XII. — KING  AT  A'PRICE 136 

XIII. — I   PROMISE  NOT  TO   LAUGH I$I 

XIV. — PLEASURE  TAKES  LEAVE  TO  PROTEST  .   .   .165 

XV. — THE   HAIR-DRESSER   WAITS I7Q 

XVI. — A   CHASE   OF  TWO   PHANTOMS            .           .           .           .  IQ3 

XVII. — DECIDEDLY  MEDIAEVAL 207 

XVIII. — WILLIAM  ADOLPHUS  HITS  THE  MARK          .        .219 

XIX. — GREAT  PROMOTION 233 


V 


60S 


vi  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX. — AN   INTERESTING   PARALLEL 248 

XXI. — ON   THE   ART   OF   FALLING   SOFT   .           .           .           .  26l 

XXII. — UT  PUTO,  VESTIS  FIO 275 

XXIII. — A    PARADOX   OF   SENSIBILITY            ....  2QO 

XXIV.— WHAT  A  QUESTION  !     .        .        .        .        .        .  304 

XXV. — A   SMACK   OF   REPETITION 318 

XXVI. — THE  SECRET  OF  THE  COUNTESS  ....  334 

XXVII. — OF   GRAZES   ON   THE   KNEE 349 

XXVIII. — As  BEDERHOF  ARRANGED 363 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PACK 

"I'm  not  a  king  for  my  own  pleasure"  Frontispiece 

Hammerfeldt  came  to  me  and  kissed  my  hand     .         .  43 

The  firelight  played  on  the  hand  that  held  the  screen  .  102 

*  My  ransom,"  said  I.     "The  price  of  my  freedom"     .  148 

"On  my  honour,  a  pure  accident,"  said  Varvilliers        .  215 

"Why,  what  brings  you  here?"  I  cried  ....  262 

"My  dear  friend,  have  you  forgotten  me?"    .         .         .  293 

"I'll  try — I'll  try  to  make  you  happy"  ....  342 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A   PIOUS   HYPERBOLE. 

BEFORE  my  coronation  there  was  no  event  in 
childhood  that  impressed  itself  on  my  memory  with 
marked  or  singular  distinction.  My  father's  death, 
the .  result  of  a  chill  contracted  during  a  hunting 
excursion,  meant  no  more  to  me  than  a  week  of 
rooms  gloomy  and  games  forbidden ;  the  decease  of 
King  Augustin,  my  uncle,  appeared  at  the- first  in- 
stant of  even  less  importance.  I  recollect  the  news 
coming.  The  King,  having  been  always  in  frail 
health,  had  never  married ;  seeing  clearly  but  not 
far,  he  was  a  sad  man :  the  fate  that  struck  down 
his  brother  increased  his  natural  -melancholy;  he 
became  almost  a  recluse,  withdrew  himself  from  the 
capital  to  a  retired  residence,  and  henceforward  was 
little  more  than  a  name  in  which  Prince  von  Ham- 
merfeldt  conducted  the  business  of  the  country. 
Now  and  then  my  mother  visited  him ;  once  she 
brought  back  to  me  a  letter  from  him,  little  of  which 
I  understood  then,  although  I  have  since  read  often 
the  touching  words  of  his  message.  When  he  died, 
there  was  the  same  gloom  as  when  my  father  left 
us;  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  treated  a  little 


2  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

differently;  the  servants  stared  at  me,  my  mother 
would  look  long  at  me  with  a  half-admiring,  half- 
amused  expression,  and  Victoria  let  me  have  all  her 
toys.  In  Baroness  von  Krakenstein  (or  Krak,  as 
we  called  her)  alone,  there  was  no  difference ;  yet 
the  explanation  came  from  her,  for  when  that  even- 
ing I  reached  out  my  little  hand  and  snatched  a  bit 
of  cake  from  the  dish,  Krak  caught  my  wrist,  say- 
ing gravely, 

"  Kings  must  not  snatch;  Augustin." 

"  Victoria,  what  do  you  get  when  you  are  a 
king?"  I  asked  my  sister  that  night.  I  was  hardly 
eight,  she  nearing  ten,  and  her  worldly  wisdom 
seemed  great. 

"  Oh,  you  have  just  what  you  want,  and  do 
what  you  like,  and  kill  people  that  you  don't  like," 
said  she.  "  Don't  you  remember  the  Arabian 
Nights?" 

"  Could  I  kill  Krak  ?  "  I  asked,  choosing  a  con- 
crete and  tempting  illustration  of  despotic  power. 

Victoria  was  puzzled. 

"  She'd  have  to  do  something  first,  I  suppose," 
she  answered  vaguely.  "  I  should  have  been  queen 
if  you  hadn't  been  born,  Augustin."  Her  tone  now 
became  rather  plaintive. 

"  But  nobody  has  a  queen  if  they  can  get  a 
king,"  said  I  serenely. 

It  is  the  coronation  day  that  stands  out  in  mem- 
ory; the  months  that  elapsed  between  my  accession 
and  that  event  are  merged  in  a  vague  dimness.  I 
think  little  difference  was  made  in  our  household 
while  we  mourned  the  dead  King.  Krak  was  still 
sharp,  imperious,  and  exacting.  She  had  been  my 
mother's  governess,  and  came  with  her  from  Styria. 
I  suppose  she  had  learned  the  necessity  of  sternness 


A   PIOUS   HYPERBOLE.  3 

from  her  previous  experience  with  Princess  Ger- 
trude, for  that  lady,  my  mother,  a  fair,  small,  slim 
woman,  who  preserved  her  girlishness  of  appearance 
till  the  approach  of  middle  age,  was  of  a  strong  and 
masterful  temper.  Only  Krak  and  Hammerfeldt  had 
any  power  over  her ;  Krak's  seemed  the  result  of  an- 
cient domination,  the  Prince's  was  won  by  a  suave 
and  coaxing  deference  that  changed  once  a  year  or 
thereabouts  to  stern  and  uncompromising  opposition. 
But  with  my  early  upbringing,  and  with  Victoria's, 
Hammerfeldt  had  nothing  to  do;  my  mother  pre- 
sided, and  Krak  executed.  The  spirit  of  Styria 
reigned  in  the  nursery,  rather  than  the  softer  code 
of  our  more  Western  country ;  I  doubt  whether  dis- 
cipline were  stricter  in  any  house  in  Forstadt  than  in 
the  royal  palace. 

They  roused  me  at  eight  on  my  coronation  day. 
My  mother  herself  came  to  my  bedside,  and  knelt 
down  for  a  few  minutes  by  it.  Krak  stood  in  the 
background,  grim  and  gloomy.  I  was  a  little  fright- 
ened, and  asked  what  was  afoot. 

"  You're  to  be  crowned  to-day,  Augustin,"  said 
my  mother.  "  You  must  be  a  good  boy." 

"  Am  I  to  be  crowned  king,  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  in  the  cathedral.  Will  you  be  a 
good  king?  " 

"  I'll  be  a  great  king,  mother,"  said  I.  The 
Arabian  Nights  were  still  in  my  head. 

She  laughed  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Have  him  ready  by  ten  o'clock,  Baroness,"  she 
said.  "  I  must  go  and  have  my  coffee-  arid  then  dress. 
And  I  must  see  that  Victoria  is  properly  dressed 
too." 

"Are  you  going  to  be  crowned,  mother?"  I 
asked. 


4  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  be  only  Princess  Hein- 
rich  still." 

I  looked  at  her  with  curiosity.  A  king  is  greater 
than  a  princess ;  should  I  be  greater  than  my  moth- 
er ?  And  my  mother  was  greater  than  Krak  !  Why, 
then — but  Krak  ended  my  musings  by  whisking  me 
out  of  bed. 

It  was  fine  fun  to  ride  in  the  carriage  by  my 
mother's  side,  with  Victoria  and  old  Hammerfeldt 
opposite.  Hammerfeldt  was  President  of  the  Coun- 
cil of  Regency  ;  but  I,  knowing  nothing  of  that,  sup- 
posed my  mother  had  asked  him  into  our  carriage 
because  he  amused  us  and  gave  us  chocolates.  My 
mother  was  very  prettily  dressed,  and  so  was  Vic- 
toria. I  was  very  glad  that  Krak  was  in  another 
vehicle.  There  were  crowds  of  people  in  the  street, 
cheering  us  more  than  they  ever  had  before ;  I  was 
taking  off  my  hat  all  the  time.  Once  or  twice  I 
held  up  my  sword  for  them  to  see,  but  everybody 
laughed,  and  I  would  not  do  it  any  more.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  I  had  worn  a  sword,  but  I  did  not 
see  why  they  should  laugh.  Victoria  laughed  most 
of  all ;  indeed,  at  last  my  mother  scolded  her,  saying 
that  swords  were  proper  for  men,  and  that  I  should 
be  a  man  soon. 

We  reached  the  cathedral,  and  with  my  hand  in 
my  mother's  I  was  led  up  the  nave,  till  we  came  to 
the  front  of  the  High  Altar.  There  was  a  very  long 
service ;  I  did  not  care  about  or  heed  much  of  it, 
until  the  archbishop  came  down  on  to  the  lowest 
step,  and  my  mother  took  my  hand  again  and  led 
me  to  him,  and  he  put  the  crown  on  my  head.  I 
liked  that,  and  turned  round  to  see  if  the  people  were 
looking,  and  was  just  going  to  laugh  at  Victoria, 
when  I  saw  Krak  frowning  at  me ;  so  I  turned  back 


A   PIOUS   HYPERBOLE.  5 

and  listened  to  the  archbishop.  He  was  a  nice  old 
man,  but  I  did  not  understand  very  much  of  what 
he  said.  He  talked  about  my  uncle,  my  father,  and 
the  country,  and  what  a  king  ought  to  do ;  at  last 
he  leaned  down  toward  me,  and  told  me  in  a  low  but 
very  distinct  voice  that  henceforward  God  was  the 
only  Power  above  me,  and  I  had  no  lord  except  the 
King  of  kings.  He  was  a  very  old  man  with  white 
hair,  and  when  he  had  said  this  he  seemed  not  to  be 
able  to  go  on  for  a  minute.  Perhaps  he  was  tired, 
or  did  not  know  what  to  say  next.  Then  he  laid 
his  hand  on  my  head — they  had  taken  the  crown  off 
because  it  was  so  heavy  for  me — and  said  in  a  whis- 
per, "  Poor  child !  "  but  then  he  raised  his  voice,  so 
that  it  rang  all  through  the  cathedral,  and  blessed 
me.  Then  my  mother  made  me  get  up  and  turn 
and  face  the  people ;  she  put  the  crown  on  my  head 
again ;  then  she  knelt  and  kissed  my  hand.  I  was 
very  much  surprised,  and  I  saw  Victoria  trying 
hard  not  to  laugh — because  Krak  was  just  by  her. 
But  I  didn't  want  to  laugh ;  I  was  too  much  sur- 
prised. 

So  far  memory  carries  me;  the  rest  is  blurred, 
until  I  found  myself  back  in  our  own  home  divested 
of  my  military  costume,  but  allowed,  as  a  special 
treat,  to  have  my  sword  beside  me  when  we  sat  down 
to  tea.  We  had  many  good  things  for  tea,  and  even 
Krak  was  thawed  into  amiability ;  she  told  me  that 
I  had  behaved  very  well  in  the  cathedral,  and  that 
I  should  see  the  fireworks  from  the  window  pres- 
ently. It  was  winter  and  soon  dark.  The  fireworks 
began  at  seven  ;  I  remember  them  very  well.  Above 
all,  I  recollect  the  fine  excitement  of  seeing  my  own 
name  in  great  long  golden  letters,  with  a  word  after 
them  that  Krak  told  me  I  ought  to  know  meant 


6  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  king,"  and  was  of  the  third  declension.  "  Rex, 
Regis,"  said  Krak,  and  told  poor  Victoria  to  go  on. 
Victoria  was  far  too  excited,  and  Krak  said  we  must 
both  learn  it  to-morrow ;  but  we  were  clapping  our 
hands,  and  didn't  pay  much  heed.  Then  Hammer- 
feldt  came  in  and  held  me  up  at  the  window  for  a  few 
minutes,  telling  me  to  kiss  my  hand  to  the  people. 
I  did  as  he  told  me;  then  the  crowd  began  to  go 
away,  and  Krak  said  it  was  bedtime. 

Now  here  I  might  conclude  the  story  of  my  coro- 
nation day ;  but  an  episode  remains  trivial  and  ludi- 
crous enough,  yet  most  firmly  embedded  in  my  mem- 
ory. Indeed,  it  has  always  for  me  a  significance  quite 
independent  of  its  obvious  import ;  it  seems  to  sym- 
bolize the  truth  which  the  experience  of  all  my  life 
has  taught  me.  Perhaps  I  throw  dignity  to  the  winds 
in  recording  it;  I  intend  to  do  the  like  all  through 
what  I  write ;  for,  to  my  thinking,  when  dignity 
comes  in  at  the  door  sincerity  flies  out  of  the  win- 
dow. I  was  not  tired  after  the  day,  or  I  was  too 
excited  to  feel  tired.  My  small  brain  was  agog ;  my 
little  head  was  turned.  Amidst  all  that  I  did  not 
understand  I  understood  enough  to  conceive  that 
I  had  become  a  great  man.  I  saw  Victoria  led  off 
to  bed,  and  going  meekly.  But  I  was  not  as  Vic- 
toria ;  she  was  not  a  king  as  I  was ;  mother  had  not 
knelt  before  her ;  the  archbishop  had  not  told  Vic- 
toria that  she  had  no  lord  except  the  King  of  kings. 
Perhaps  I  was  hardly  to  blame  when  I  took  his  words 
as  excluding  the  domination  of  women,  of  Krak, 
even  of  the  mother  who  had  knelt  and  kissed  my 
hand.  At  any  rate,  I  was  in  a  wilful  mood.  Old 
Anna,  the  nurse,  had  put  Victoria  to  bed,  and  now 
came  through  the  door  that  divided  our  rooms  and 
proposed  to  assist  me  in  my  undressing.  I  was  wil- 


A   PIOUS   HYPERBOLE.  7 

ful  and  defiant;  I  refused  most  flatly  to  go  to  bed. 
Anna  was  perplexed ;  unquestionably  a  new  and  rev- 
erential air  was  perceptible  in  Anna ;  the  detection 
of  it  was  fuel  to  my  fires  of  rebellion.  Anna  sent 
for  Krak;  in  the  interval  before  the  governess's  ar- 
rival I  grew  uneasy.  I  half  wished  I  had  gone  to 
bed  quietly,  but  now  I  was  in  for  the  battle.  Had 
there  been  any  meaning  in  what  the  archbishop  said, 
or  had  there  not?  Was  it  true,  or  had  he  misled  me? 
I  had  believed  him,  and  was  minded  to  try  the  issue ; 
I  sat  in  my  chair  attempting  to  whistle  as  my  groom 
had  taught  me.  Krak  came ;  I  whistled  on ;  there 
was  a  whispered  consultation  between  Anna  and 
Krak ;  then  Krak  told  me  that  I  was  to  go  to  bed, 
and  bade  me  begin  the  process  by  taking  off  my 
shoes.  I  looked  her  full  and  fair  in  the  face. 

"  I  won't  till  I  choose,"  said  I.  "  I'm  king 
now  " ;  and  then  I  quoted  to  Krak  what  the  arch- 
bishop had  said.  She  lifted  her  hands  in  amazement 
and  wrath. 

"  I  shall  have  to  fetch  your  mother,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  above  my  mother ;  she  knelt  to  me,"  I  re- 
torted triumphantly. 

Krak  advanced  toward  me. 

"  Augustin,  take  off  your  shoes/'  said  she. 

I  had  no  love  for  Krak.  Dearest  of  all  gifts  of 
sovereignty  would  be  the  power  of  defying  Krak. 

"Do  you  really  want  me  to  take  them  off?"  I 
asked. 

''  This  instant,"  commanded  Krak. 

I  do  not  justify  my  action  ;  yet,  perhaps,  the  arch- 
bishop should  have  been  more  careful  of  what  he 
said.  My  answer  to  Krak  was,  "  Take  them,  then." 
And  I  snatched  off  one  of  them  and  threw  it  at  Krak. 
It  missed  most  narrowly  the  end  of  her  long  nose, 


8  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

and  lodged,   harmlessly  enough,  on   Anna's   broad 
bosom.    I  sat  there  exultant,  fearful,  and  defiant. 

Krak  spoke  to  Anna  in  a  low  whisper ;  then  they 
both  went  out,  leaving  me  alone  in  the  big  room. 
I  grew  afraid,  partly  because  I  was  alone,  partly 
for  what  I  had  done.  I  could  undress  myself,  al- 
though I  was  not,  as  a  rule,  allowed  to.  I  tumbled 
quickly  out  of  my  clothes,  and  had  just  slipped  on 
my  nightshirt,  when  the  door  opened,  and  my  mother 
entered,  followed  by  Krak.  My  mother  looked  very 
young  and  pretty,  but  she  also  looked  severe. 

"  Is  this  true,  Augustin  ?  "  she  asked,  sitting  down 
by  the  fire. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  I,  arrested  in  my  flight  to- 
ward bed. 

"  You  refused  to  obey  the  Baroness?" 

i4  Yes.    I'm  king  now." 

"  And  threw  your  shoe  at  her?  " 
'  The  archbishop  said —      "  I  began. 

"  Be  quiet,"  said  my  mother,  and  she  turned  her 
head  and  listened  to  Krak,  who  began  to  whisper  in 
her  ear.  A  moment  later  she  turned  to  me. 

"  You  must  do  as  you  are  told,"  she  said ;  "  and 
you  must  apologize  to  the  Baroness." 

"  I'd  have  taken  them  off  if  she  had  asked  me," 
I  said,  "  but  she  ordered  me." 

"  She  has  a  right  to  order  you." 

"  Is  she  God  ?  "  I  asked,  pointing  scornfully  at 
Krak.  Really  the  archbishop  must  bear  some  of  the 
responsibility. 

Krak  whispered  again ;  again  my  mother  turned 
to  me. 

"  Will  you  apologize,  Augustin  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No,"  said  I  stubbornly. 

Krak  whispered  again.     I  heard  my  mother  say, 


A   PIOUS   HYPERBOLE.  g 

with  a  little  laugh,  "  But  to-day,  Baroness !  "  Then 
she  sighed  and  looked  round  at  me. 

"  Do  apologize,  Augustin,"  said  she. 

"  I'll  apologize  to  you,  not  to  her,"  I  said. 

She  looked  at  the  Baroness,  then  at  me,  then  back 
to  the  Baroness ;  then  she  smiled  and  sighed. 

"  I  suppose  so.  He  must  learn  it.  But  not  much 
to-night,  Baroness.  Just  enough  to — to  show  him." 

Krak  came  toward  me;  a  moment  later  I  occu- 
pied a  position  which,  to  my  lively  discomfort,  I 
had  filled  once  or  twice  before  in  my  short  life,  but 
which  I  had  not  supposed  that  I  should  fill  again 
after  what  the  archbishop  had  said.  I  set  my  teeth 
to  endure ;  I  was  full  of  bewilderment,  surprise,  and 
anger.  The  archbishop  had  played  me  terribly  false  ; 
the  Arabian  Nights  were  no  less  delusive.  Krak 
was  as  unmoved  and  business-like  as  usual.  I  was 
determined  not  to  cry — not  to-night.  I  was  not  very 
hard  tried ;  almost  directly  my  mother  said,  "  That 
will  do."  There  was  a  pause ;  no  doubt  Krak's  face 
expressed  a  surprised  protest.  "  Yes,  that's  enough 
to-day,"  said  my  mother,  and  she  added,  "  Get  into 
bed,  Augustin.  You  must  learn  to  be  an  obedient 
boy  before  you  can  be  a  good  king." 

The  moment  I  was  released  I  ran  and  leaped  into 
bed,  hiding  my  face  under  the  clothes.  I  heard  my 
mother  come  and  say,  "  Won't  you  kiss  me  ?  "  but 
I  was  very  angry;  I  did  not  understand  why  they 
made  me  a  king,  and  then  beat  me,  because  I  be- 
haved like  all  the  kings  I  had  been  told  or  read  about. 
Moreover,  I  had  begun  to  cry  now,  and  I  would  have 
been  killed  sooner  than  let  Krak  see  that.  So  pres- 
ently my  mother  went  away,  and  Krak  too.  Then 
Anna  came  and  tried  to  turn  down  the  clothes,  but 
I  would  not  let  her.  I  hung  on  to  them  hard,  for 


I0  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

I  was  still  crying.  I  heard  Anna  sigh,  "  Poor 
dearie !  "  then  she  went  away ;  but  directly  after  Vic- 
toria's voice  came,  saying,  "  Anna-  says  I  may  come 
in  with  you.  May  I,  please,  Augustin?"  I  let  her 
move  the  bedclothes  and  get  in  with  me ;  and  I  put 
my  arms  round  her  neck.  Victoria  comforted  me 
as  best  she  could. 

"  You'll  be  a  real  king  when  you  grow  up,"  she 
said. 

A  thought  struck  me — a  rapturous  thought,  born 
of  the  Arabian  Nights.  (In  the  archbishop  lay  no 
comfort  at  all.) 

"  Yes,"  I  cried,  "  and  then  I'll  bastinado  Krak !  " 
With  this  comforting  thought  I  fell  asleep. 

A  strange  day,  this  of  my  coronation,  odd  to  pass 
through,  to  the  highest  degree  illuminating  in  retro- 
spect. I  did  not  live  to  bastinado  Krak ;  nor  would 
I  now  had  I  the  power.  What  they  did  was  perhaps 
a  little  cruel,  a  little  Styrian,  as  Victoria  and  I  used 
covertly  to  say  of  such  harsh  measures ;  but  how 
valuable  a  lesson  on  the  state  and  fortune  of  kings! 
The  King  is  one,  the  man  another.  The  King  is 
crowned,  the  man  is  lashed;  they  give  us  greatness 
in  words :  in  fact,  we  are  our  servants'  servants. 
Little  as  I  liked  the  thing  at  the  time,  I  can  not  now 
regret  that  I  was  chastised  on  my  coronation  day. 
I  was  thus  put  into  an  attitude  eminently  conducive 
to  the  perception  of  truth,  and  to  a  realization  of  the 
facts  of  my  position.  I  forgive  thee  the  blows,  Krak 
— Lo,  I  forgive  thee! 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    BIRD    WITHOUT   WINGS. 

• 

A  MAN'S  puerilia  are  to  himself  not  altogether 
puerile ;  they  are  parcel  of  the  complex  explanation 
of  his  existent  self.  He  starts,  I  suppose,  as  some- 
thing, a  very  malleable  something,  ready  to  be  ham- 
mered into  the  shape  that  the  socket  requires.  The 
two  greatest  forces  at  work  on  the  yielding  substance 
are  parents  and  position,  with  the  gardener's  boy 
beneath  my  window  crusts  and  cuffs,  with  me  at  the 
window  kingship  and  Styrian  discipline.  In  the 
latter  there  was  to  me  nothing  strange ;  I  had  grown 
into  it  from  birth.  But  now  it  became  suddenly 
noticeable,  as  a  thing  demanding  justification,  by  rea- 
son of  its  patent  incongruity  with  my  kingship.  I 
have  shown  how  swiftly  and  sharply  the  contrast 
was  impressed  on  me ;  if  I  have  not  made  that  point, 
then  my  story  of  a  nursery  tragedy  is  unexcused. 
I  was  left  wondering  what  manner  of  king  he  was 
who  must  obey  on  pain  of  blows.  I  was  very  young, 
and  the  sense  of  outrage  did  not  last,  but  the  puzzle 
persisted,  and  Victoria's  riper  philosophy  was  taxed 
to  allay  it.  Waiting  seemed  the  only  thing,  waiting 
till  I  could  fling  my  shoes  at  whom  I  would,  and  sit 
on  my  throne  to  behold  the  bastinadoing  of  Krak. 
My  mother  told  me  that  I  must  be  an  obedient  boy 
first.  Well  and  good ;  but  then  why  make  me  a  king 

ii 


12  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

now?  In  truth  I  was  introduced  over-early  to  the 
fictions  of  high  policy.  A  king  without  power  seems 
to  a  child  like  a  bird  without  wings ;  but  a  bird  with- 
out wings  is  a  favourite  device  of  statesmanship. 

The  matter  did  not  stand  even  here.  My  kingship 
not  only  lacked  the  positive  advantages  with  which 
youthful  imagination  (aided  by  the  archbishop's  pious 
hyperbole)  had  endowed  it ;  it  became  in  my  eyes 
the  great  and  fertile  source  of  all  my  discomfort,  the 
parent  of  every  distasteful  obligation,  the  ground  on 
which  all  chosen  pleasures  were  refused.  It  was  ever 
"  Kings  can  not  do  this,"  or  "  Kings  must  do  that," 
and  the  "  this  "  was  always  sweet,  the  "  that  "  repel- 
lent ;  in  Krak's  hands  monarchy  became  a  cross  be- 
tween a  treadmill  and  a  strait-waistcoat.  "  What's 
the  use  of  being  a  king?"  I  dared  once  to  cry 
to  her. 

"  God  did  not  make  you  a  king  for  your  own 
pleasure,"  returned  Krak  solemnly.  I  recollect  think- 
ing that  her  remark  must  certainly  be  true,  yet  won- 
dering whether  God  quite  realized  how  tiresome  the 
position  was. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  I  had  many  advantages 
to  counterbalance  these  evils  that  pressed  so  hardly 
on  me.  I  do  not  recollect  being  conscious  of  them. 
Even  my  occasional  parades  in  public,  although  they 
tickled  my  vanity,  were  spoiled  for  me  by  the  feeling 
that  nobody  would  look  at  me  with  admiration,  envy, 
or  even  interest,  if  he  knew  the  real  state  of  the  case. 
I  may  observe  that  this  reflection  has  not  vanished 
with  infancy,  but  still  is  apt  to  assail  me.  Of  course 
I  was  well  fed,  well  housed,  and  well,  though  firmly, 
treated.  Alas,  what  we  have  not  is  more  to  us  than 
all  we  possess.  I  was  thankful  under  protest ;  pro- 
hibitions outweighed  privileges.  I  have  not  the  ex- 


A   BIRD   WITHOUT   WINGS.  ^ 

perience  necessary  for  any  generalization,  but  my 
own  childhood  was  not  very  happy. 

A  day  comes  into  my  mind  almost  as  clear  and 
distinct  in  memory  as  my  coronation  day.  I  was 
nine  years  old,  and  went  with  my  mother  to  pay  a 
visit  to  a  nobleman  of  high  rank.  He  had  just  mar- 
ried and  brought  to  his  house  a  young  American 
lady.  We  were  welcomed,  of  course,  with  infinite 
courtesy  and  deference.  Princess  Heinrich  received 
such  tributes  well,  with  a  quiet,  restrained  dignity 
and  a  lofty  graciousness.  I  was  smart  in  my  best 
clothes,  a  miniature  uniform  of  the  Corps  of  Guards, 
and  my  hand  flew  up  to  my  little  helmet  when  the 
Countess  curtseyed  very  low  and  looked  at  me  with 
merry,  sparkling  blue  eyes.  Her  husband  was  a  tall, 
good-looking  fellow,  stiff  in  back  and  manner,  as 
are  most  of  our  folk,  but  honest  and  good-hearted, 
as  are  most  of  them  also.  But  I  paid  little  heed  to 
him ;  the  laughing  Countess  engrossed  me,  and  I 
found  myself  smiling  at  her.  Her  eyes  seemed  to 
enter  into  confidence  with  me,  and  I  knew  she  was 
rather  sorry  for  me.  The  day  was  damp  and  chill, 
and,  although  my  mother  would  not  refuse  to  go 
round  the  Count's  gardens,  of  which  he  was  proud, 
she  declared  that  the  walk  was  not  safe  for  me,  and 
asked  the  Countess  to  take  care  of  me.  So  she  and 
I  were  left  alone.  I  stood  rather  shyly  by  the  table, 
fingering  the  helmet  that  my  mother  had  told  me  to 
take  off ;  presently  looking  up,  I  saw  her  merry  eyes 
on  me. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  Countess,  "  if  you  sat  down  I 
would." 

I  bowed  and  sought  a  chair ;  there  was  a  high 
wooden  arm-chair,  and  I  clambered  into  it ;  my  legs 
dangled  in  mid-air.  Another  little  laugh  came  from 


14  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

the  Countess  as  she  brought  me  a  high  footstool.  I 
tried  to  jump  down  in  time  to  stop  her,  but  she  would 
not  let  me.  Then  she  knelt  herself  on  the  stool,  her 
knees  by  my  feet. 

"  What  beautiful  military  boots !  "  she  said. 

I  looked  down  listlessly  at  my  shining  toes.  She 
clasped  her  hands,  crying : 

"  You're  a  beautiful  little  king!  Oh,  isn't  it  love- 
ly to  be  a  king !  " 

I  looked  at  her  doubtfully ;  her  pretty  face  was 
quite  close  to  mine.  Somehow  I  wanted  very  much 
to  put  my  arms  round  her  neck,  but  I  felt  sure  that 
kings  did  not  hug  countesses.  Imagine  Krak's  ver- 
dict on  such  a  notion  ! 

"  I'm  not  a  king  for  my  own  pleasure,"  said  I, 
regarding  my  hostess  gravely.  "  I  am  a  king  for 
the  good  of  my  people." 

She  drew  a  long  breath  and  whispered  in  English 
(I  did  not  understand  then,  but  the  sound  of  the 
words  stayed  with  me),  "  Poor  little  mite !  "  Then 
she  said : 

"  But  don't  you  have  a  lovely  time?  " 

I  felt  that  I  was  becoming  rather  red,  and  I  knew 
that  the  tears  were  not  far  from  my  eyes. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  not  very." 

"Why  not?" 

"  They — they  don't  let  me  do  any  of  the  things 
I  want  to." 

"  You  shall  do  anything  you  want  to  here,"  she 
whispered.  I  was  very  much  surprised  to  see  that 
her  bright  eyes  had  grown  a  little  clouded. 

"  We've  no  kings  in  my  country,"  she  said,  tak- 
ing my  hand  in  hers. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I'd  been  born  there,"  said  I ;  then 
we  looked  at  one  another  for  a  minute,  and  I  put 


A   BIRD   WITHOUT   WINGS.  I5 

out  my  arms  and  took  hold  of  her,  and  drew  her  face 
near  mine.  With  a  little  gulp  in  her  throat  she  sprang 
up,  caught  me  in  her  arms,  kissed  me  a  dozen  times, 
and  threw  herself  into  the  big  chair  with  me  on  her 
knees.  Now  I  was  crying,  and  yet  half  laughing; 
so  I  believe  was  she.  We  did  not  say  very  much 
more  to  one  another.  Soon  I  stopped  crying;  she 
looked  at  me,  and  we  both  laughed. 

"  What  babies  we  are,  your  Majesty!  "  said  she. 

"  They  might  let  me  do  a  little  more,  mightn't 
they?  It's  all  Krak,  you  know.  Mother  wouldn't 
be  half  so  bad  without  Krak." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  and  is  Krak  so  horrid  ?  " 

"  Horrid,"  said  I,  with  grave  emphasis. 

The  Countess  kissed  me  again. 

"  You'll  grow  up  soon,"  she  said.  Somehow  the 
assurance  comforted  me  more  from  her  lips  than 
from  Victoria's.  "  Will  you  be  nice  to  me  when 
you  grow  up  ?  " 

"  I  shall  always  be  very,  very  fond  of  you,"  said  I. 

She  laughed  a  funny  little  laugh,  and  then  sighed. 

"  If  God  sends  me  a  little  son,  I  hope  he'll  be 
like  you,"  she  whispered,  with  her  cheek  against 
mine. 

"  He  won't  be  a  king,"  said  I  with  a  sigh  of 
envy. 

"  You  poor  dear !  "  cooed  she. 

Then  came  my  mother's  clear,  high-bred  voice, 
just  outside  the  door,  descanting  on  the  beauty  of 
the  Count's  parterres  and  orangery.  A  swift  warn- 
ing glance  flew  from  me  to  my  hostess.  I  scampered 
off  my  perch,  and  she  stood  up  in  respectful  readiness 
for  the  entrance  of  Princess  Heinrich. 

"  Don't  tell  mother,"  I  whispered  urgently. 

"Not  a  word!" 


l6  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  Whatevef  they  do  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  whatever  they  do  to  me !  " 

My  mother  was  in  the  room,  the  Count  holding 
the  door  for  her  and  closing  it  as  she  passed  through. 
I  felt  her  glance  rest  on  me  for  a  moment ;  then  she 
turned  to  the  Countess  and  expressed  all  proper 
admiration  of  the  gardens,  the  house,  and  the  whole 
demesne. 

"  And  I  hope  Augustin  has  been  a  good  boy  ?  " 
she  ended. 

"  The  King  has  been  very  good,  madame,"  re- 
turned the  Countess.  Then  she  looked  in  an  in- 
quiring way  at  her  husband,  as  though  she  did  not 
quite  know  whether  she  were  right  or  not,  and  with 
a  bright  blush  added,  "  If  you  would  let  him  come 
again  some  day,  madame !  " 

My  mother  smiled  quite  graciously. 

:<  You  mustn't  leave  me  out  of  the  invitation," 
she  said.  "  We  will  both  come,  won't  we,  Augus- 
tin?" 

"  Yes,  please,  mother,"  said  I,  relapsed  into  shy- 
ness and  in  great  fear  lest  our  doings  should  be  dis- 
covered. 

"  Say  good-bye  now,"  commanded  the  Princess. 

I  should  have  liked  to  kiss  the  Countess  again, 
but  such  an  act  would  have  risked  a  betrayal.  Our 
adieu  was  made  in  proper  form,  the  Countess  accom- 
panying us  to  the  door.  There  we  left  her  curtsey- 
ing, while  the  Count  handed  my  mother  into  the 
carriage.  I  looked  round,  and  the  Countess  blew 
me  a  surreptitious  kiss. 

When  we  had  driven  a  little  way,  my  mother 
said: 

"  Do  you  like  the  Countess  von  Sempach  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  much." 


A   BIRD   WITHOUT   WINGS.  17 

"  She  was  kind  to  you  ?  " 

"  Very,  mother." 

"  Then  why  have  you  been  crying,  Augustin  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  been  crying,"  said  I.  The  lie  was 
needful  to  my  compact  with  the  Countess ;  my  hon- 
our was  rooted  in  dishonour. 

"  Yes,  you  have,"  said  she,  but  not  quite  in 
the  accusing  tones  that  generally  marked  the  de- 
tection of  falsehood.  She  seemed  to  look  at  me 
more  in  curiosity  than  in  anger.  Then  she  bent 
down  toward  me.  "  What  did  you  talk  about?  "  she 
asked. 

'"  Nothing  very  particular,  mother.  She  asked 
me  if  I  liked  being  king." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said  I  liked  it  pretty  well." 

My  mother  made  no  answer.  I  stole  a  look  at 
her  handsome  clean-cut  features ;  she  was  frowning 
a  little. 

"  I  didn't  tell  her  much,"  said  I,  aiming  at  pro- 
pitiation. 

"Much  of  what?"  came  sharply,  but  not  un- 
kindly. Yet  the  question  posed  me. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  "  I  murmured  forlornly ;  and 
I  was  surprised  when  she  turned  and  kissed  me, 
saying : 

"  We  all  love  you,  Augustin ;  but  you  have  to  be 
king,  and  you  must  learn  how." 

"  Yes,"  I  assented.  The  thing  was  quite  inevi- 
table ;  I  knew  that. 

Silence  followed  for  a  little  while.  Then  my 
mother  said : 

"  When  you're  ten  you  shall  have  a  tutor,  and 
your  own  servants,  Augustin." 

Hastily  I  counted  the  months.    There  were  nine ; 


1 8  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

but  what  did  the  proposal  mean?  Was  I  to  be  a 
free  man  then? 

"  And  we  women  will  leave  you  alone,"  my  moth- 
er went  on.  She  kissed  me  again,  adding,  "  You 
don't  like  us,  do  you?  " 

"  I  like  you,  mother,"  I  said  gravely,  "  at  least 
generally — not  when  you  let  Kr — the  Baroness — 

"  Never  mind  the  Baroness,"  she  interrupted. 
Then  she  put  her  arm  round  my  neck  and  asked  me 
in  a  very  low  voice,  "  You  didn't  like  the  Countess 
better  than  me,  did  you,  Augustin  ?  " 

"  N — no,  mother,"  said  I,  but  I  was  an  unaccom- 
plished hypocrite,  and  my  mother  turned  away.  My 
thoughts  were  not  on  her,  but  on  the  prospect  her 
words  had  opened  to  me. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  the  Baroness  won't  be  my 
governess  any  more  ?  " 

"  Yes.    You'll  have  a  governor,  a  tutor." 

"And  shall  I ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  soon,  dear." 

The  rest  of  our  drive  was  in  silence.  My  mind 
was  full  to  overflowing  of  impressions,  hopes,  and 
wonders ;  my  mother's  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  win- 
dows of  the  carriage. 

We  reached  home,  and  together  went  up  to  the 
schoolroom.  It  was  not  tea-time  yet,  and  lesson- 
books  were  on  the  table.  Krak  sat  beside  it,  grave, 
grim,  and  gray.  Victoria  was  opposite  to  her.  Vic- 
toria was  crying.  Past  experience  enlightened  me; 
I  knew  exactly  what  had  happened;  Victoria  had  a 
delightfully  unimpressionable  soul ;  no  rebuke  from 
Krak  brought  her  to  tears ;  Krak  had  been  rapping 
her  knuckles,  and  her  tears  were  an  honest  tribute 
to  pain,  with  no  nonsense  of  merely  wounded  sensi- 
bility about  them.  My  mother  went  up  and  whis- 


A   BIRD   WITHOUT   WINGS.  19 

pered  to  Krak.  Krak  had,  of  course,  risen,  and  stood 
now  listening  with  a  heavy  frown.  My  mother  drew 
herself  up  proudly;  she  seemed  to  brace  herself  for 
an  effort ;  I  heard  nothing  except  "  I  think  you 
should  consult  me,"  but  our  quick  children's  eyes 
apprehended  the  meaning  of  the  scene.  Krak  was 
being  bearded.  There  was  no  doubt  of  it ;  for  pres- 
ently Krak  bowed  her  head  in  a  jerky  unwilling  nod 
and  walked  out  of  the  room.  My  mother  stood  still 
for  a  moment  with  a  vivid  red  colour  in  her  cheeks. 
Then  she  walked  across  to  Victoria,  lifted  one  of  her 
hands  from  the  table,  and  kissed  it. 

"  You're  going  to  have  tea  with  me  to-day,  chil- 
dren," said  she,  "  and  we'll  play  games  afterward. 
Augustin  shall  play  at  not  being  a  king." 

I  remember  well  the  tea  we  had  and  the  games 
that  followed,  wherein  we  all  played  at  being  what 
we  were  not,  and  for  an  evening  cheated  fate  of  its 
dues.  My  mother  was  merriest,  for  over  Victoria 
and  myself  there  hung  a  veil  of  unreality,  a  conscious- 
ness that  indeed  we  played  and  set  aside  for  an  hour 
only  the  obstinate  claims  of  the  actual.  But  we  were 
all  merry ;  and  when  we  parted — for  my  mother  had 
a  dinner-party — we  both  kissed  her  heartily ;  me  she 
kissed  often.  I  thought  that  she  wanted  to  ask  me 
again  whether  I  liked  the  Countess  better  than  her, 
but  was  afraid  to  risk  the  question.  What  I  wanted 
to  say  was  that  I  liked  none  better  if  she  would  be 
always  what  she  was  this  evening;  but  I  found  no 
skill  adequate  to  a  declaration  of  affection  so  con- 
ditional. It  would  be  to  make  a  market  of  my  kisses, 
and  I  had  not  yet  come  to  the  age  for  such  bargains. 

Then  we  were  left  alone,  Victoria  and  I,  to  sit 
together  for  a  while  in  the  dusk ;  and,  sitting  there, 
we  totted  up  that  day's  gains.  They  were  uncertain, 


20  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

yet  seemed  great.  All  that  had  passed  I  told  Vic- 
toria, save  what  in  loyalty  to  my  countess  I  might 
not;  Victoria  imparted  to  me  the  story  of  the 
knuckle-rapping.  For  her  an  added  joy  lay  in  the 
fact  that  on  this  occasion,  if  ever,  she  had  deserved 
the  affliction;  she  had  been  gloriously  naughty,  and 
gloried  in  it  now ;  did  not  her  sinfulness  enhance  the 
significance  of  this  revolution?  So  carried  away 
were  we  by  our  triumph  that  now  again,  after  a  long 
interval,  we  allowed  our  imagination  to  paint  royalty 
in  glowing  colours,  and  our  Arabian  Nights  and 
fairy  tales  seemed  at  last  not  altogether  cunningly 
wrought  deceptions.  When  we  had  gone  to  bed, 
again  we  met,  I  creeping  into  her  room,  and  rousing 
her  to  ask  whether  in  truth  a  new  age  had  come  and 
the  yoke  of  Krak  been  broken  from  off  our  backs. 
Victoria  sat  up  in  bed  and  discussed  the  problem 
gravely.  For  me  she  was  sanguine,  for  herself  less 
so ;  for,  said  she,  they  go  on  worrying  the  girls  for 
ever  so  long.  "  She  won't  rap  your  knuckles  any 
more,"  I  suggested,  fastening  on  a  certain  and  tan- 
gible advantage.  Victoria  agreed  that  in  all  likeli- 
hood her  knuckles  would  henceforth  be  inviolate ; 
and  she  did  not  deny  such  gain  as  lay  there.  Thus 
in  the  end  I  won  her  to  cheerfulness,  and  we  parted 
merrily,  declaring  to  one  another  that  we  were  free ; 
and  I  knew  that  in  some  way  the  pretty  American 
countess  had  lent  a  hand  to  knocking  off  our  chains. 
Free!  A  wonderful  word  that,  whether  you  use 
it  of  a  child,  a  man,  a  state,  a  world,  an  universe ! 
That  evening  we  seemed  free.  In  after-days  I  re- 
ceived from  old  Hammerfeldt  (a  great  statesman,  as 
history  will  one  day  allow)  some  lectures  on  the  little 
pregnant,  powerful,  empty  word.  He  had  some  right 
to  speak  of  freedom;  he  had  seen  it  fought  for  by 


A   BIRD   WITHOUT   WINGS.  2I 

Napoleon,  praised  by  Talleyrand,  bought  by  Castle- 
reagh,  interpreted  by  Metternich.  Should  he  not 
then  know  what  it  was,  its  value,  its  potency,  and  its 
sweetness,  why  men  died  for  it,  and  delicate  women 
who  loved  them  cheered  them  on?  Once  also  in 
later  years  a  beautiful  woman  cried  to  me,  with 
white  arms  outstretched,  that  to  be  free  was  life,  was 
all  in  all,  the  heart's  one  satisfaction.  Her  I  pressed, 
seeking  to  know  wherein  lay  the  attraction  and  al- 
lurement that  fired  her  to  such  extravagance.  And' 
I  told  her  what  the  Prince  had  said  to  me  half-way 
through  his  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  *  Sire,'  said  he,  '  to  become  free — what  is  it  ? 
It  is  to  change  your  master.' ' 

The  lady  let  her  arms  fall  to  her  side,  reflected  a 
moment,  smiled,  and  said: 

"  The  Prince  was  no  fool,  sire." 

As  the  result  of  this  day  that  I  have  described,  I 
had  become  free.    I  had  changed  my  master. 

We  did  not,  however,  pay  any  more  visits  to  the 
Countess. 


CHAPTER   III. 

SOME    SECRET    OPINIONS. 

EVEN  such  results  as  might  be  looked  for  on 
Prince  von  Hammerfeldt's  theory  of  the  meaning 
of  freedom  were  in  my  case  arrested  and  postponed 
by  a  very  serious  illness  which  atacked  me  on  the 
threshold  of  my  eleventh  year.  We  had  gone  to 
Schloss  Artenberg,  according  to  our  custom  in  the 
summer;  it  was  holiday-time;  Krak  was  away,  the 
talked-of  tutor  had  not  arrived.  The  immediate  fruit 
of  this  temporary  emancipation  was  that  I  got  my 
feet  very  wet  with  dabbling  about  the  river,  and, 
being  under  no  sterner  control  than  Victoria's,  lin- 
gered long  in  this  condition.  Next  day  I  was  kept 
in  bed,  and  Victoria  was  in  sore  disgrace.  To  be 
brief,  the  mischief  attacked  my  lungs.  Soon  I  was 
seriously  ill ;  a  number  of  grave,  black-coated  gen- 
tlemen came  and  went  about  the  bed  on  which  I 
lay  for  several  weeks.  Of  this  time  I  have  many 
curious  impressions ;  most  of  them  centre  round  my 
mother.  She  slept  in  my  room,  and  I  believe  hardly 
ever  left  me.  I  used  to  wake  from  uneasy  sleep  and 
look  across  to  her  bed ;  always  in  a  few  moments 
she  also  awoke,  came  and  gave  me  what  I  needed 
or  asked  for,  and  then  would  throw  a  dressing-gown 
round  her  and  walk  softly  to  and  fro  on  bare  feet, 
with  her  long  fair  hair  hanging  about  her  shoulders. 

22 


SOME   SECRET   OPINIONS.  23 

Her  face  looked  different  in  those  days ;  yet  it  was 
not  soft  as  I  have  seen  mothers'  faces  when  their 
sons  lay  sick  or  dead,  but  rather  excited,  urgent,  de- 
fiant; the  lips  were  set  close,  and  the  eyes  gleamed. 
She  did  not  supplicate  God,  she  fought  fate,  or,  if 
God  and  fate  be  one,  then  it  was  God  whom  she 
fought ;  and  her  battle  was  untiring.  I  knew  from 
her  face  that  I  might  die,  but,  so  far  as  I  can  recall 
my  mood,  I  was  more  curious  about  the  effect  of 
such  an  event  on  her  and  on  Victoria  than  concern- 
ing its  import  to  myself.  I  asked  her  once  what 
would  happen  if  I  died;  would  Victoria  be  queen? 
She  forbade  me  to  ask  the  question,  but  I  pressed 
it,  and  she  answered  hastily,  "  Yes,  yes,  but  you  won't 
die,  Augustin ;  you  shan't  die."  I  was  not  allowed 
to  see  very  much  of  Victoria,  but  a  day  or  two  after- 
ward she  sat  with  me  alone  for  a  little  while,  and  I 
told  her  she  would  be  queen  if  I  died. 

"  No.  Mother  would  kill  me,"  she  said  with  ab- 
solute conviction,  in  no  resentment  or  fear,  but  in 
a  simple  certitude. 

"Why?  Because  you  didn't  bring  me  in  when 
I  got  wet  ?  " 

"  Yes — if  you  died  of  it,"  nodded  Victoria. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  I  said  boldly.  "Why 
shouldn't  she  like  you  to  be  queen  ?  " 

"  She'd  hate  it,"  said  Victoria. 

"  She  doesn't  hate  me  being  king." 

"  You're  a  boy." 

I  wondered  dimly  then,  and  I  have  wondered 
since  (hardly  with  more  knowledge),  what  truth  or 
whether  any  lay  behind  my  sister's  words ;  she  be- 
lieved that,  apart  from  any  unjust  blame  for  my  mis- 
fortune, her  mother  would  not  willingly  see  her 
queen.  Yet  why  not?  I  have  a  son,  and  would  be 


24  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

glad  to  lay  down  my  burden  and  kiss  his  hand  as 
he  sat  on  the  throne.  Are  all  fathers  such  as  I  ? 
Nay,  and  are  all  mothers  such  as  mine?  I  know 
not ;  and  if  there  be  any  position  that  opens  a  man's 
mind  to  the  Socratic  wisdom  of  knowing  his  own 
ignorance  it  is  that  in  which  my  life  has  been  spent. 
But  it  can  hardly  be  that  the  curious  veiled  oppo- 
sition which  from  about  this  time  began  to  exist  be- 
tween my  mother  and  my  sister  was  altogether  sin- 
gular. It  was  a  feeling  not  inconsistent  with  duty, 
with  punctilious  observance,  not  even  with  love ;  but 
there  was  in  it  a  sort  of  jealousy,  of  assertion  and 
counter-assertion.  It  seemed  to  me,  as  I  became 
older,  to  have  roots  deeper  than  any  accidental  oc- 
currence or  environment,  and,  so  far,  I  came  near 
to  the  difficult  analysis,  to  spring  from  the  relation 
of  one  woman  who  was  slowly  but  surely  being 
forced  to  lay  down  what  she  had  prized  most  in  her 
womanhood  and  another  who,  slowly  but  surely, 
also  became  aware  that  hers  was  the  prize  in  her 
turn,  and  thrust  forward  a  tentative  hand  to  grasp 
it.  If  I  am  at  all  right  in  this  notion,  then  it  is  plain 
that  feelings  slight  and  faint,  although  not  non-exist- 
ent in  ordinary  homes,  might  be  intensified  in  such 
a  family  as  ours,  and  that  a  new  and  great  impulse 
would  have  been  imparted  to  them  by  such  an  arti- 
ficial accentuation  of  the  inevitable  as  must  have  re- 
sulted had  I  died,  and  my  sister  been  called  to  the 
first  place.  Among  men  the  cause  for  such  an  antag- 
onism is  far  less  powerful ;  advancing  years  take  less 
from  us  and  often  bring  what,  to  older  eyes,  is  a 
good  recompense  for  lost  youth,  and  seems  to  youth 
itself  more  precious  than  any  of  its  own  posses- 
sions. Our  empire,  never  so  brilliant  as  a  woman's 
in  its  prime,  is  of  stuff  more  durable  and  less 


SOME   SECRET   OPINIONS.  25 

shaken  by  the  wind  of  Time's  fluttering  garment  as 
he  passes  by. 

My  confessor  came  to  see  me  sometimes.  He 
was  an  eminent  divine,  nominated  to  his  post  by 
Hammerfeldt  in  reward,  I  believe,  for  some  political 
usefulness.  I  do  not  think  he  saw  far  into  a  child's 
heart,  or  perhaps  I  was  not  like  most  children.  He 
was  always  comforting  me,  telling  me  not  to  be 
afraid,  that  God  was  merciful,  Christ  full  of  love, 
and  the  saints  praying  for  me.  Now  I  was  not  in 
the  least  afraid ;  I  was  very  curious  about  death — 
I  had  never  seen  it — but  I  was,  as  I  have  said,  more 
curious  about  the  world  I  should  leave  behind.  I 
wanted  to  know  what  would  be  done  when  I  was 
dead,  and  where  I  was  to  be  buried.  Would  they 
fire  the  guns  and  parade  the  troops?  I  did  not  rise 
to  the  conception  of  myself,  not  knowing  anything 
of  what  they  did.  I  thought  I  should  be  there  some- 
how, looking  on  from  heaven ;  and  I  think  that  I 
rather  enjoyed  the  prospect.  A  child  is  very  self- 
centred  ;  I  had  no  doubt  that  I  should  be  the  object 
of  much  attention  in  heaven  on  that  day  at  least.  I 
hinted  something  of  what  was  passing  in  my  mind 
to  the  confessor.  He  did  not  appear  to  follow  the 
drift  of  my  thoughts.  He  told  me  again  that  I  had 
been  a  good  boy,  and  that  now,  if  I  prayed  and  was 
sorry  for  my  faults,  I  should  be  happy  and  should 
please  God.  This  did  not  touch  the  point  that  en- 
gaged my  attention.  I  tried  whether  my  mother  could 
help  me,  and  I  was  surprised  when  the  tears  started 
into  her  eyes,  and  she  bade  me,  almost  roughly,  to 
be  quiet.  However,  when  Victoria  came  we  talked 
it  all  over.  Victoria  cried  a  little,  but  she  was  quite 
clear  as  to  her  own  position  in  the  procession,  and 
we  had  rather  an  animated  dispute  about  it.  She 
3 


26  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

said  also  that  some  one  in  heaven  would  hold  me, 
and  we  differed  again  as  to  the  celestial  personage  in 
whose  lap  I  was  to  sit.  I  am  afraid  that  here  our 
imaginations  were  assisted  by  the  picture  of  the  Holy 
Family  in  the  chapel  of  the  Schloss. 

Not  the  least  tiresome  incident  of  this  time  was 
that  Krak  felt  it  her  duty  to  display  affection.  I  do 
not  mean  to  assert  that  Krak  was  not  and  had  not 
been  all  along  fond  of  me,  but  in  ordinary  seasons 
to  feel  affection  was  with  Krak  no  reason  at  all  for 
displaying  it.  I  do  more  justice  to  Krak  now ;  then 
I  did  not  appreciate  the  change  in  her  demeanour. 
On  questioning  Victoria,  I  found  that  Krak's  soft- 
ness did  not  extend  beyond  the  limits  of  my  sick- 
room ;  she  had  indeed  ceased  the  knuckle-rapping, 
but  in  its  place  she  curtailed  Victoria's  liberty  and 
kept  her  nose  to  the  grindstone  pitilessly.  Why 
should  caresses  be  confined  to  the  sick,  and  kindness 
be  bought  only  at  the  price  of  threatened  death?  I 
was  inclined  to  refuse  to  kiss  Krak,  but  my  mother 
made  such  a  point  of  compliance  that  I  yielded  re- 
luctantly. In  days  of  health  Krak  had  exacted, 
morning  and  evening,  a  formal  and  perfunctory 
peck ;  if  I  gave  her  no  more  now  she  looked  ag- 
grieved, and  my  mother  distressed.  Had  Krak  been 
possessed  by  a  real  penitence,  I  would  have  opened 
my  arms  to  her,  but  I  was  fully  aware  that  her  mood 
was  not  this  ;  she  merely  wanted  to  know  that  I  bore 
no  malice  for  just  discipline,  and  it  went  to  my  heart 
even  apparently* to  concede  this  position.  There 
seemed  to  me  something  a  little  unfair  in  her  pro- 
ceedings ;  they  were  attempts  to  obtain  from  me  ad- 
missions that  I  should  have  repudiated  scornfully  in 
hours  of  health.  I  knew  that  concessions  now  would 
prejudice  my  future  liberty.  In  days  to  come  (sup- 


SOME   SECRET   OPINIONS.  2/ 

posing  I  recovered)  my  hostility  to  Krak  would  be 
met  by  "  Remember  how  kind  she  was  to  you  when 
you  were  ill,"  or  "  Oh,  Augustin,  you  didn't  say  that 
of  the  Baroness  when  she  brought  you  grapes  in 
your  illness."  I  had  plenty  of  grapes.  There  are  few 
things  which  human  nature  resents  more  than  a  theft 
of  its  grievances.  I  was  polite  to  Krak,  but  I  lodged 
a  protest  with  my  mother  and  confided  a  passionate 
repudiation  of  any  treaty  to  Victoria's  sympathetic 
ear.  Victoria  was  all  for  me ;  my  mother  was  stern 
for  a  moment,  and  then,  smiling  faintly,  told  me  to 
try  to  sleep. 

After  several  months  I  took  a  decided  and  rapid 
turn  toward  recovery.  This,  I  think,  was  the  mo- 
ment in  which  I  realized  most  keenly  the  fictitious 
importance  which  my  position  imparted  to  me.  The 
fashion  of  everybody's  face  was  changed ;  mother, 
doctors,  nurses,  servants,  all  wore  an  air  of  victory. 
When  I  was  carried  out  on  to  the  terrace  at  Arten- 
berg,  rows  of  smiling  people  clapped  their  hands. 
I  felt  that  I  had  done  something  very  meritorious 
in  getting  better,  and  I  hoped  secretly  that  they 
would  give  me  just  as  fine  a  procession  as  though 
I  had  died.  Victoria  got  hold  of  a  newspaper  and, 
before  she  was  detected  and  silenced,  read  me  a 
sentence  : 

"  By  the  favourable  news  of  the  King's  health 
a  great  weight  is  lifted  from  the  heart  of  the  coun- 
try. There  is  not  a  house  that  will  not  be  glad 
to-day."  I  was  pleased  at  this,  although  rather  sur- 
prised. Taking  thought  with  myself,  I  concluded 
that,  although  kingship  had  hitherto  failed  to  an- 
swer my  private  expectations  and  desires,  yet  it 
must  be  a  more  important  thing  even  in  these 
days  than  I  had  come  to  suppose.  I  put  a  ques- 


28  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

tion  to  my  mother,  pointing  at  one  of  the  gar- 
deners. 

"  If  Josef's  son  was  ill  and  I  was  ill,"  said  I, 
"  which  would  Josef  wish  most  to  get  better  ?  " 

"  The  King  should  be  before  a  thousand  sons  to 
him,"  she  answered  quickly,  and  in  a  proud,  agitated 
voice.  But  a  moment  later  she  bade  me  not  ask 
foolish  questions.  I  remember  that  I  studied  her 
face  for  some  moments.  It  was  a  little  difficult  to 
make  out  how  she  really  felt  about  me  and  my  king- 
ship. 

Convalescence  was  a  pleasant  season.  Styrian 
discipline  was  relaxed,  and  I  was  allowed  to  do  very 
nearly  all  that  my  strength  enabled  me.  Victoria 
shared  in  the  indulgence  of  this  time;  I  remember 
we  agreed  that  there  would  be  something  to  be  said 
for  never  getting  quite  well.  Had  getting  quite  well 
meant  going  back  to  Krak,  I  should  have  felt  this 
point  of  view  most  strongly,  but  I  was  not  to  go 
back  to  Krak.  There  was  a  talk  of  a  governor,  of 
tutors,  and  masters.  Hammerfeldt  came  down  and 
had  a  long  conversation  with  my  mother.  She  came 
out  from  the  interview  with  flushed  cheeks,  seem- 
ing vexed  and  perturbed,  but  she  was  composed 
again  when  the  Prince  took  his  leave,  and  said  to 
him  pleasantly : 

"  You  mustn't  take  him  away  from  me  altogether, 
Prince." 

"  We  rely  on  your  influence  above  everything, 
madame,"  was  Hammerfeldt's  courtly  answer,  but 
my  mother  watched  his  retreating  figure  with  a 
rather  bitter  smile.  Then  she  turned  to  me  and 
asked : 

"  Shall  you  be  glad  to  have  tutors  ?  " 

Krak   was   in   the    distance   with   Victoria;   my 


SOME   SECRET   OPINIONS.  2Q 

mother  perceived  my  eyes  travelling  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

"  Poor  old  Baroness !  You  never  liked  her,  did 
you,  Augustin  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  emboldened  by  this  new  and  confi- 
dential tone, 

"  Try  to  think  more  kindly  of  her,"  she  advised ; 
but  I  saw  that  she  was  not  in  the  least  aggrieved 
at  my  want  of  appreciation.  "  You  don't  like  women, 
do  you?" 

"  Only  you,  and  Victoria,  and "  I  hesitated. 

"  And  Anna?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  old  Anna." 

"Well,  and  who  else?" 

"  The  Countess  von  Sempach,"  said  I,  a  little 
timidly. 

"  Haven't  you  forgotten  her?  "  asked  my  mother, 
and  her  smile  became  less  bright. 

"  No,  I've — I've  not  forgotten  her,"  I  murmured. 
"  Does  she  ever  come  to  see  you,  mother — here  at 
Artenberg,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  darling,"  said  my  mother. 

I  did  not  pursue  the  subject.  I  had  eyes  good 
enough  to  see  that  my  dislike  for  Krak  was  pleas- 
anter  to  my  mother  than  my  liking  for  the  Countess. 
Women  seem  to  me  to  have  the  instinct  of  monopoly, 
and  not  to  care  for  a  share  of  affection.  Such,  at 
least,  was  my  mother's  temperament,  intensified  no 
doubt  by  the  circumstance  that  in  future  days  my 
favour  and  liking  might  be  matters  of  importance. 
She  feared  from  another  woman  just  what  she  feared 
from  Hammerfeldt,  his  governor,  and  his  tutors ; 
probably  her  knowledge  of  the  world  made  her  dread 
another  woman  more  than  any  number  of  men.  She 
feared  even  Victoria,  her  own  daughter  and  my  sis- 


3Q  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

ter ;  but  a  woman,  very  pretty  and  sympathetic,  who 
would  be  only  twenty-eight  when  I  was  eighteen, 
must  have  seemed  to  her  mind  the  greatest  peril  of 
all.  It  is  one  of  the  drawbacks  of  conspicuous  place 
that  a  man's  likings  and  fancies,  his  merest  whims, 
are  invested  by  others  with  an  importance  that  throws 
its  reflection  back  on  to  his  own  mind;  he  is  able 
to  recollect  only  with  an  effort  that  even  in  his  case 
there  are  a  good  many  things  of  no  importance.  I 
did  not  make  these  observations  as  a  small  boy  at 
Artenberg,  but  even  as  a  small  boy  I  knew  very  well 
that  the  Countess  von  Sempach  would  not  be  invited 
to  the  Schloss.  Nor  was  she.  My  mother  guarded 
the  gate,  a  jealous  angel. 

Thus  a  pleasant  summer  passed  at  Artenberg,  and 
in  the  autumn  we  returned  to  Forstadt.  Then  I  had 
my  procession,  though  it  seemed  scarcely  as  bril- 
liant or  interesting  as  that  wherein  Victoria  had  held 
first  place  while  I  looked  down,  a  highly  satisfied 
spectator,  from  heaven.  I  was  eleven  years  old  now, 
and  perhaps  just  the  first  bloom  was  wearing  off 
the  wonder  of  the  world.  For  recompense,  but  not 
in  full  requital,  I  was  more  awake  to  the  meaning 
of  things  around  me,  and  I  fear  much  more  awake 
to  the  importance  of  myself,  Augustin.  Now  I  ap- 
propriated the  cheers  at  which  before  I  had  mar- 
velled, and  approved  the  enthusiasm  that  had  before 
amused  me.  My  mother  greeted  these  signs  in  me ; 
since  I  was  to  leave  the  women  she  would  now  have 
me  a  man  as  soon  as  might  be ;  besides,  she  had  a 
woman's  natural  impatience  for  my  full  growth. 
They  love  us  most  as  babies,  when  they  are  Provi- 
dence to  us ;  least  as  boys,  when  we  make  light  of 
them ;  more  again  when  as  men  we  return  to  rule 
and  be  ruled,  bartering  slavery  in  one  matter  for 


SOME   SECRET   OPINIONS.  ^r 

dominion  in  another,  and  working  out  the  equilib- 
rium of  power. 

But  after  my  procession  in  the  cathedral,  when  I 
was  giving  thanks  for  rescue  from,  a  death  that  had 
never  been  terrible  and  now  seemed  remote  and  im- 
possible, I  saw  my  countess.  She  was  nearly  oppo- 
site to  me ;  her  husband  was  not  with  her :  he  was 
on  guard  in  the  nave  with  his  regiment.  I  wanted 
to  make  some  sign  to  her,  but  I  had  been  told  that 
everybody  would  be  looking  at  me.  When  I  was 
crowned,  "  everybody  "  had  meant  Krak,  and  I  had 
feared  no  other  eye.  I  was  more  self-conscious  now. 
I  was  particularly  alert  that  my  mother  should  ob- 
serve nothing.  But  the  Countess  and  I  exchanged 
a  glance ;  she  nodded  cautiously ;  almost  immedi- 
ately afterward  I  saw  her  wipe  her  eyes.  I  should 
have  liked  to  talk  to  her,  tell  her  that  I  liked  being 
a  king  rather  better,  and  give  her  the  glad  tidings 
that  the  dominion  of  Krak  had  ended ;  but  I  got  no 
chance  of  doing  anything  of  the  sort,  being  carried 
away  without  coming  nearer  to  her. 

Victoria  was  in  very  low  spirits  that  evening. 
It  had  suddenly  come  upon  her  that  she  was  to  be 
left  to  endure  Krak  all  alone.  Victoria  and  I  were 
not  somehow  as  closely  knit  together  as  we  had  been  ; 
she  was  now  thirteen,  growing  a  tall  girl,  and  I  was 
but  a  little  boy.  Yet  our  relations  were  not,  I  im- 
agine, quite  what  they  would  have  been  between 
brother  and  sister  of  such  relative  ages  in  an  ordi- 
nary case.  The  authority  which  elder  sisters  may 
be  seen  so  readily  to  ape  and  assume  was  never 
claimed  by  Victoria ;  my  mother  would  not  have  en- 
dured such  presumption  for  a  moment.  I  think  Vic- 
toria regarded  me  as  a  singularly  ignorant  person, 
who  yet,  by  fortune's  freak,  was  invested  with  a 


32  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

strange  importance  and  the  prospect  at  least  of  great 
and  indefinite  power.  She  therefore  took  a  good 
deal  of  pains  to  make  me  understand  her  point  of 
view,  and  to  convert  me  to  her  opinions.  Her  pres- 
ent argument  was  that  she  also  ought  to  be  relieved 
from  Krak. 

"  Krak  was  mother's  governess  till  mother  was 
eighteen,"  I  reminded  her. 

"  Awful !  "  groaned  poor  Victoria. 

"  In  fact,  mother's  never  got  rid  of  Krak  at  all." 

"Oh,  that's  different.  I  shouldn't  in  the  least 
mind  keeping  Krak  as  my  daughter's  governess," 
said  Victoria.  "  That  would  be  rather  fun." 

"  It  would  be  very  cruel,  considering  what  Krak 
does,"  I  objected. 

Dim  hintings  of  the  grown-up  state  were  in  Vic- 
toria ;  she  looked  a  little  doubtful. 

"  It  wouldn't  matter  when  she  was  quite  young," 
she  concluded.  "  But  I'm  nearly  fourteen.  Augus- 
tin,  will  you  ask  mother  to  send  Krak  away  when 
I'm  fifteen?" 

"  No,"  said  I.  I  had  a  wholesome  dread  of  strain- 
ing the  prerogative. 

"  Then  when  I'm  sixteen?  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  I've  got  to  do  with  it,"  said  I 
restlessly. 

Victoria  became  huffy. 

"  You're  king,  and  you  could  do  it  if  you  liked," 
she  said.  "  If  I  was  king,  I  should  like  to  do  things 
for  people,  for  my  sister  anyhow."  She  pouted  in 
much  vexation. 

"  Well,  perhaps  I'll  try  some  day,"  said  I  re- 
luctantly. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  boy !  "  cried  Victoria,  and  she  im- 
mediately gave  me  three  kisses. 


SOME   SECRET   OPINIONS.  33 

I  was  certainly  on  my  way  to  learn  the  secret  of 
popularity.  In  my  experience  Victoria's  conception 
of  the  kingly  office  is  a  very  common  one,  and  Vic- 
toria's conduct  in  view  of  a  refusal  to  forward  her 
views,  and  of  consent,  extremely  typical.  For  Vic- 
toria took  no  account  of  my  labours,  or  of  the  prob- 
able trouble  I  should  undergo,  or  of  the  snub  I 
should  incur.  She  called  me  a  dear  boy,  gave  me 
three  kisses,  and  went  off  to  bed  in  much  better 
spirits.  And  all  the  while  my  own  secret  opinion 
was  that  Krak  was  rather  good  for  Victoria.  It  has 
generally  been  my  secret  opinion  that  people  had  no 
business  to  receive  the  things  which  they  have  asked 
me  to  give  to  or  procure  for  them.  When  the  merits 
are  good  the  King's  help  is  unnecessary. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

TWO    OF   MY   MAKERS. 

PHYSICALLY  my  parents'  child,  with  my  father's 
tall  stature  and  my  mother's  clean-cut  features,  in- 
tellectually I  was  more  son  to  Hammerfeldt  than 
to  any  one  else.  From  the  day  when  my  brain 
began  to  develop,  his  was  the  preponderating  influ- 
ence. I  had  a  governor,  a  good  soldier,  General 
von  Vohrenlorf ;  I  had  masters ;  I  had  one  tutor,  of 
whom  more  presently  (he  for  a  time  bade  fair  to  dis- 
pute the  Prince's  supremacy) ;  but  above  them  all, 
moulding  me  and  controlling  them,  was  this  remark- 
able old  man.  At  this  time  he  was  seventy  years 
old;  he  had  been  a  soldier  till  thirty,  since  then  a 
diplomatist  and  politician.  I  do  not  think  in  all 
things  as  Hammerfeldt  thought;  time  moves,  and 
each  man's  mind  has  its  own  cast ;  but  I  will  make 
no  claim  to  originality  at  the  cost  of  depreciating 
what  I  learned  from  him.  He  was  a  solitary  man ; 
once  he  had  taken  a  wife ;  she  left  him  after  two 
years ;  he  used  to  talk  about  her  as  though  she  had 
died  at  the  date  when  she  ran  away,  without  bitter- 
ness, with  an  indulgent  kindness,  with  a  full  recog- 
nition of  her  many  merits.  Those  who  did  not  know 
the  story  little  supposed  that  the  lady  lived  still  in 
Paris.  His  conduct  in  this  matter  was  highly  char- 
acteristic. He  regarded  passions  and  emotions  as 
34 


TWO   OF   MY   MAKERS.  35 

things  altogether  outside  and  independent  of  the  ra- 
tional man.  Their  power  could  not  be  denied  in 
their  own  sphere  and  season ;  he  admitted  that  they 
must  be  felt — raw  feeling  was  their  province ;  he  de- 
nied that  they  should  affect  thought  or  dominate 
action.  In  others  they  were  his  opportunity,  in  him- 
self a  luxury  that  had  never  been  dangerous,  or  an 
ailment  that  was  troublesome  but  never  fatal.  He 
was  hard  on  a  blunder;  as  a  necessary  presupposi- 
tion to  effective  negotiation  or  business  he  recognised 
a  binding  code  of  honour ;  he  has  frequently  told  me 
he  did  not  understand  the  theological  conception  of 
sin.  He  had  eaten  of  our  salt  and  was  our  servant ; 
thus  he  would  readily  have  died  for  us ;  but  he  prayed 
pardon  if  we  asked  him  to  believe  in  us.  "  Conduct," 
he  said  once,  "  is  the  outcome  of  selfishness  limited 
by  self-conceit."  It  was  his  way  so  to  put  things 
as  to  strip  them  of  friendly,  decent  covering;  had 
he  said  self-interest  limited  by  self-respect,  the  axiom 
would  have  been  more  accepted  and  less  quoted.  A 
superficial  person  used  to  exclaim  to  me,  "  And  yet 
he  is  so  kind !  "  A  man  without  ideals  finds  kind- 
ness the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  In  truth  he  was 
kind,  and  in  a  confidential  sort  of  way  that  seemed 
to  chuckle  and  wink,  saying,  "  We're  rogues  to- 
gether ;  then  I  must  lend  you  a  hand."  But  he  could 
be  ruthless  also,  displaying  a  curious  aloofness  from 
his  fellow-men  and  an  unconsciousness  of  any  suf- 
fering he  might  inflict  that  left  mere  cruelty  far  be- 
hind. If  I  were  making  an  automaton  king,  I  would 
model  my  machine  on  the  lines  of  Hammerfeldt. 
He  had  no  belief  in  a  future  life,  but  would  sometimes 
trifle  whimsically  with  the  theory  of  a  transmigration 
of  souls ;  he  traced  all  beliefs  in  immortality  to  the 
longing  of  those  who  were  unfortunate  here  (and 


36  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

who  did  not  think  himself  so?)  for  a  recompense  (a 
revenge  he  called  it)  hereafter,  and  declared  trans- 
migration to  be  at  once  the  most  ingenious  and  the 
most  picturesque  embodiment  of  this  yearning.  He 
played  billiards  extremely  well,  and  excused  his  skill 
on  the  ground  that  he  was  compelled  to  pass  the  time 
while  foreign  diplomatists  and  his  own  colleagues 
were  making  up  their  mind.  I  do  not  think  that  he 
ever  hesitated  as  to  what  he  had  best  do.  He  was 
of  an  extremely  placid  and  happy  temper.  As  may 
be  anticipated  from  what  I  have  said,  he  regarded 
no  man  as  utterly  lost  unless  he  were  completely 
under  the  influence  of  a  woman. 

Yet  it  was  by  Hammerfeldt's  will  that  Geoffrey 
Owen  became  my  daily  companion  and  familiar 
friend.  Vohrenlorf  visited  me  once  or  twice  a  week, 
and  exercised  a  perfunctory  superintendence.  I  had, 
of  course,  many  masters  who  came  and  went  at  ap- 
pointed hours.  Owen  lived  with  me  both  at  For- 
stadt  and  at  Artenberg.  At  this  time  he  was  twenty- 
five  ;  he  excelled  my  own  adult  stature,  and  walked 
with  the  free  grace  of  a  well-bred  English  gentle- 
man. His  dark  hair  grew  thick,  rising  from  his  fore- 
head in  a  wave;  his  face  was  long  and  thin,  and  a 
slight  mustache  veiled  a  humorous  tender  mouth. 
There  was  about  the  man  a  pervading  sympathy ;  the 
desire  to  be  friends  was  the  first  characteristic  of  his 
manner;  he  was  talkative,  eager,  enthusiastic.  If  a 
man  were  good  it  seemed  to  Owen  but  natural ;  if 
he  were  a  rogue  my  tutor  would  set  it  down  to  any- 
thing in  the  world  save  his  own  fault.  Everybody 
could  be  mended  if  everybody  else  would  try.  Thus 
he  brought  with  him  into  our  conservative  military 
court  and  society  the  latest  breath  of  generous  hope 
and  human  aspiration  that  had  blown  over  Oxford. 


TWO   OF    MY   MAKERS. 


37 


Surely  this  was  a  strange  choice  of  Hammerfeldt's ! 
Was  it  made  in  ignorance  of  the  man,  or  with  some 
idea  that  my  mind  should  be  opened  to  every  variety 
of  thought,  or  in  a  careless  confidence  that  his  own 
influence  was  beyond  shaking,  and  that  Owen's  spirit 
would  beat  hopelessly  against  the  cage  and  never 
reach  mine  in  its  prison  of  tradition  ? 

A  boy  that  would  not  have  worshipped  such  a 
man  as  Geoffrey  Owen  must  have  wanted  heart  and 
fire.  I  watched  him  first  to  see  if  he  could  ride ;  he 
rode  well.  When  he  came  he  could  not  fence;  in 
six  months  he  was  a  good  hand  with  the  foils ;  phys- 
ical fatigue  seemed  as  unknown  to  him  as  mental 
inertia.  There  was  no  strain  and  no  cant  about  him ; 
he  smoked  hard,  drank  well  after  exertion,  with 
pleasure  always.  He  delighted  to  talk  to  my  mother, 
chaffing  her  Styrian  ideas  with  a  graceful  deference 
that  made  her  smile.  Victoria  adored  him  openly, 
and  Krak  did  not  understand  why  he  was  not  odious. 
Thus  he  conquered  the  Court,  and  I  was  the  first 
of  his  slaves.  It  would  be  tedious  to  anybody  ex- 
cept myself  to  trace  the  gradual  progress  of  our  four 
years'  intimacy  and  friendship,  of  my  four  years' 
training  and  enlightenment.  Shall  I  summarize  it 
and  say  that  Owen  taught  me  that  there  were  folks 
outside  palaces,  and  that  the  greatness  of  a  station, 
even  as  of  a  man,  stood  not  in  the  multitude  of  the 
things  that  it  possessed?  The  summary  is  cold  and 
colourless;  it  smacks  of  duty,  of  obligations  unwill- 
ingly remembered,  of  selfish  pleasures  reluctantly 
foregone.  As  I  became  old  enough  to  do  more  than 
listen  entranced  to  his  stories,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
to  be  such  a  man  as  he  was,  and  not  knowing  that 
he  himself  was  admired,  could  be  no  duty,  but  only 
a  happy  dream.  There  has  been  in  my  family,  here 


38  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

and  there,  a  vein  of  fancy,  or  of  mysticism  turning 
sometimes  to  religious  fervour,  again  sometimes  to 
soldierly  enthusiasm  and  a  knight-errantry  in  arms, 
the  ruin  and  despair  of  cool  statesmanship.  On  this 
element  Owen's  teaching  laid  hold  and  bent  it  to  a 
more  modern  shape.  I  would  not  be  a  monk  or  a 
Bayard,  but  would  serve  humanity,  holding  my 
throne  a  naked  trust,  whence  all  but  I  might  reap 
benefit,  whereon  I  must  sit  burdened  with  the  sor- 
rows of  all ;  and  thus  to  be  burdened  was  my  joy. 
With  some  boys  no  example  could  have  made  such 
ideas  acceptable,  or  won  anything  but  scornful  won- 
der for  them ;  in  me  they  struck  answering  chords, 
and  as  I  rambled  in  the  woods  at  Artenberg  already 
in  my  mind  I  was  the  perfect  king. 

Where  would  such  a  mood  have  led?  Where 
would  it  have  ended?  What  at  the  last  would  have 
been  my  state  and  fame  ? 

On  my  fifteenth  birthday  Prince  von  Hammer- 
feldt,  now  in  his  seventy-fifth  year,  came  from  For- 
stadt  to  Artenberg  to  offer  me  congratulations. 
Though  a  boy  may  have  such  thoughts  as  I  have 
tried  to  describe,  for  the  most  part  he  would  be 
flogged  to  death  sooner  than  utter  them ;  to  the 
Prince  above  all  men  an  instinct  bade  me  be  silent. 
But  Owen  rose  steadily  to  the  old  man's  skilful  fly ; 
he  did  not  lecture  the  minister  nor  preach  to  him, 
but  answered  his  questions  simply  and  from  the  heart, 
without  show  and  without  disguise.  Old  Hammer- 
feldt's  face  grew  into  a  network  of  amused  and  tol- 
erant wrinkles. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Owen,"  said  he,  "  I  heard  all  this 
forty — fifty — years  ago.  Is  it  not  that  Jean  Jacques 
has  crossed  the  Channel,  turning  more  sickly  on  the 
way?" 


TWO   OF   MY   MAKERS. 


39 


Owen  smiled.  Mine  was  the  face  that  grew  red 
in  resentment,  mine  the  tongue  that  burned  to  an- 
swer him. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  laughed  Owen. 
"  Still  doesn't  the  world  go  forward  ?  " 

"  I  see  no  signs  of  it,"  replied  Hammerfeldt  with 
a  pinch  of  snuff,  "  unless  it  be  progress  to  teach 
rogues  who  aren't  worth  a  snap  to  prate  of  their 
worth.  Well,  it  is  pretty  enough  in  you  to  think  as 
you  think.  What  says  the  King  to  it?  "  He  turned 
to  me  with  a  courteous  smile,  but  with  an  uncere- 
moniously intent  gaze  in  his  eyes. 

I  had  no  answer  ready ;  I  was  still  excited. 

"  I  have  tried  to  interest  the  King  in  these  lines 
of  thought,"  said  Owen. 

"  Ah,  yes,  very  proper,"  assented  Hammerfeldt, 
his  eyes  still  set  on  my  face.  "  We  must  have  more 
talk  about  the  matter.  Princess  Heinrich  awaits  me 
now." 

Owen  and  I  were  left  together.  He  was  smiling, 
but  rather  sadly;  yet  he  laughed  outright  when  I, 
carried  beyond  boyish  shame  by  my  indignation, 
broke  into  a  tirade  and  threw  back  at  him  some- 
thing of  what  he  had  taught  me.  Suddenly  he  inter- 
rupted me. 

"  Let's  go  for  a  row  on  the  river  and  have  one 
pleasant  afternoon,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder.  "  The  Prince  does  not  want  us  any  more 
to-day." 

The  afternoon  dwells  in  my  memory.  In  my 
belief  Owen's  quick  mind  had  read  something  of  the 
Prince's  purpose ;  for  he  was  more  demonstrative  of 
affection  than  was  his  wont.  He  seemed  to  eye  me 
with  a  pitiful  love  that  puzzled  me;  and  he  began 
to  talk  (this  also  was  rare  with  him)  of  my  special 


40  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

position,  how  I  must  be  apart  from  other  men,  and 
to  speculate  in  seeming  idleness  on  what  a  place  such 
as  mine  would  be  to  him  and  make  of  him.  All  this 
came  between  our  spurts  of  rowing  or  among  our 
talk  of  sport  or  of  flowers  as  we  lay  at  rest  under 
the  bank. 

"  If  there  were  two  kings  here,  as  there  were  in 
Sparta !  "  I  cried  longingly. 

"  There  were  ephors,  too,"  he  reminded  me,  and 
we  laughed.  Hammerfeldt  was  our  ephor. 

There  was  a  banquet  that  night.  I  sat  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  with  my  mother  opposite  and  Ham- 
merfeldt at  her  right  hand.  The  Prince  gave  my 
health  after  dinner,  and  passed  on  to  a  warm  and 
eloquent  eulogy  on  those  who  had  trained  me.  In 
the  course  of  it  he  dwelt  pointedly  on  the  obligation 
under  which  Geoffrey  Owen  had  laid  me,  and  of 
the  debt  all  the  nation  owed  to  one  who  had  in- 
spired its  king  with  a  liberal  culture  and  a  zeal  for 
humanity.  I  could  have  clapped  my  hands  in  de- 
light. I  looked  at  Owen,  who  sat  far  down  the  table. 
His  gaze  was  on  Hammerfeldt,  and  his  lips  were 
parted  in  a  smile.  I  did  not  understand  his  smile,  but 
it  persisted  all  through  the  Prince's  graceful  testi- 
mony to  his  services.  It  was  not  like  him  to  smile 
with  that  touch  of  satire  when  he  was  praised.  But 
I  saw  him  only  for  an  instant  before  I  went  to  bed, 
and  others  were  with  us,  so  that  I  could  ask  no 
explanation. 

The  next  morning  I  rose  early,  and  in  glee,  for 
I  was  to  go  hunting.  Owen  did  not  accompany  me ; 
he  was,  I  understood,  to  confer  with  Hammerfeldt. 
My  jovial  governor  Vohrenlorf  had  charge  of  me. 
A  merry  day  we  had,  and  good  sport ;  it  was  late 
when  we  came  home,  and  my  anxious  mother 


TWO   OF   MY   MAKERS.  41 

awaited  me  in  the  hall  with  dry  slippers.  She  had  a 
meal  spread  for  me,  and  herself  came  to  share  it. 
Never  had  I  seen  her  so  tender  or  so  gentle.  I  had 
a  splendid  hunger,  and  fell  to,  babbling  of  my  skill 
with  the  gun  between  hearty  mouthfuls. 

"  I  wish  Owen  had  been  there,"  I  said. 

My  mother  nodded,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  Is  the  Prince  gone?"  I  asked. 

"  No,  he  is  here  still.  He  stayed  in  case  you 
should  want  to  see  him,  Augustin." 

"  I  don't  want  him,"  said  I  with  a  laugh,  as  I 
pushed  my  chair  back.  "  But  I  was  glad  he  talked 
like  that  about  Owen  last  night.  I  think  I'll  go  and 
see  if  Owen's  in  his  room."  I  rose  and  started  to- 
ward the  door. 

"  Augustin,  Mr.  Owen  is  not  in  his  room,"  said 
my  mother  in  a  strangely  timid  voice. 

I  turned  with  a  start,  for  I  was  sensitive  to  every 
change  of  tone  in  her  voice. 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  is  gone,"  said  she. 

I  did  not  ask  where,  nor  whether  he  "would  re- 
turn. I  sat  down  and  looked  at  her;  she  came, 
smoothed  my  hair  back  from  my  forehead,  and 
kissed  me. 

"  I  have  not  sent  him  away,"  she  said.  "  I 
couldn't  help  it.  The  Prince  was  resolved,  and  he 
has  power." 

"  But  why?  "  burst  from  my  lips. 

"  It  is  the  Prince's  doing,  not  mine,"  she  remind- 
ed me.  "  The  Prince  is  here,  Augustin." 

Why,  yes,  at  least  old  Hammerfeldt  would  not 
run  away. 

My  lips  were  quivering.  I  was  nearer  tears  than 
pride  had  let  me  be  for  three  years  past,  grief  and 
4 


42  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

anger  uniting  to  make  me  sore  and  desolate.  There 
seemed  a  great  gap  made  in  my  life ;  my  dearest 
companion  was  gone,  the  source  of  all  that  most  held 
my  fancy  and  filled  my  mind  dried  up.  But  before 
I  could  speak  again  a  tall,  lean  figure  stood  in  the 
doorway,  helmet  in  hand.  Hammerfeldt  was  there ; 
he  was  asking  if  the  King  would  receive  him.  My 
mother  turned  an  inquiring  glance  on  me.  I  bowed 
my  head  and  choked  down  a  sob  that  was  in  my 
throat.  The  old  man  came  near  to  me  and  stood 
before  me ;  there  was  a  little  smile  on  his  lips,  but 
his  old  eyes  were  soft. 

"  Sire,"  said  he,  addressing  me  with  ceremonial 
deference  and  formality,  "  her  royal  highness  has 
told  you  what  I  have  done  in  your  Majesty's  serv- 
ice. I  should  be  happy  in  your  Majesty's  ap- 
proval." 

I  made  him  no  answer. 

"  A  king,  sire,"  he  went  on,  "  should  sip  at  all 
cups  and  drain  none,  know  all  theories  and  embrace 
none,  learn  from  all  men  and  be  bound  to  none.  He 
may  be  a  pupil,  but  not  a  disciple ;  a  hearer,  but  al- 
ways a  critic ;  a  friend,  never  a  devotee." 

I  felt  my  mother's  hand  resting  on  my  shoulder ; 
I  sat  still,  looking  in  the  Prince's  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Owen  has  done  his  work  well,"  he  went  on, 
"  but  his  work  is  done.  Do  you  ask,  sire,  why  he  is 
gone?  I  will  give  you  an  answer.  I,  Prince  von 
Hammerfeldt,  would  have  Augustin  and  not  Geoffrey 
for  my  master  and  my  country's." 

"  Enough  for  to-night,  Prince.  Leave  him  now," 
my  mother  urged  in  a  whisper. 

The  Prince  bent  his  head  slightly,  but  remained 
where  he  stood  for  a  moment  longer.  Then  he 
bowed  very  low  to  me,  and  drew  back  a  step,  still 


Hammerfeldt  came  to  me  and  kissed  my  hand. 


TWO   OF   MY   MAKERS. 


43 


facing  me.  My  mother  prompted  me  with  what  I 
suppose  was  the  proper  formula. 

"  You  are  convinced  of  the  Prince's  wisdom  and 
devotion  in  everything,  aren't  you,  Augustin  ?  "  she 
said.  . 

"  Yes,"  said  I.    "  Will  Mr.  Owen  write  to  me?  " 

"  When  your  Majesty  is  older,  your  Majesty  will, 
of  course,  use  your  own  pleasure  as  to  your  corre- 
spondence," returned  Hammerfeldt. 

He  waited  for  a  moment  longer,  and  then  drew 
back  further  to  the  door. 

"  Speak  to  the  Prince,  Augustin,"  said  my 
mother. 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  the  Prince  for  his  care 
of  me,"  said  I. 

Hammerfeldt  came  quickly  up  to  me  and  kissed 
my  hand.  "  I  would  make  you  a  true  king,  sire," 
said  he,  and  with  that  he  left  us. 

So  they  took  my  friend  from  me,  and  not  all  the 
kindness  with  which  I  was  loaded  in  the  time  follow- 
ing his  loss  lightened  the  grief  of  it.  Presently  I  came 
to  understand  better  the  meaning  of  these  things, 
and  to  see  that  the  King  might  have  no  friend ;  for 
his  friend  must  be  an  enemy  to  others,  perhaps  even 
to  the  King  himself.  Shall  I  now  blame  Hammer- 
feldt? I  do  not  know.  I  was  coming  to  the  age 
when  impressions  sink  deep  into  the  mind;  and 
Geoffrey  Owen  was  a  man  whose  mark  struck  very 
deep.  Besides,  he  had  those  theories !  It  was  not 
strange  in  Hammerfeldt  to  fear  those  theories.  Per- 
haps he  was  right ;  with  his  statecraft  it  may  well  be 
that  he  could  have  done  no  other  than  what  he  did. 
But  to  my  fifteen-years-old  thoughts  these  reflections 
were  not  present.  They  had  taken  my  friend  from 
me.  In  my  bed  that  night  I  wept  for  him,  and  my 


44  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

days  seemed  empty  for  the  want  of  him.  It  was  to 
me  as  though  he  had  died,  and  worse  than  that ;  there 
are  things  as  final  as  death,  yet  lacking  death's  gen- 
tleness. Such  is  it  to  be  cut  off,  living  friend  from 
living  friend,  and  living  heart  from  heart^not  grown 
cold  in  the  grave.  I  have  told  this  story  of  my  tutor 
and  myself  first,  for  the  influence  Owen  had  on  me 
more  than  for  the  effect  wrought  in  me  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  I  lost  him.  There  must  be  none  very 
near  me ;  it  seemed  as  though  that  stern  verdict  had 
been  passed.  There  must  be  a  vacant  space  about 
the  throne.  Such  was  Hammerfeldt's  gospel.  He 
knew  that  he  himself  soon  must  leave  me ;  he  would 
have  no  successor  in  power,  and  none  to  take  a  place 
in  love  that  he  had  neither  filled  nor  suffered  to  be 
filled.  As  I  wandered,  alone  now,  about  the  woods 
at  Artenberg  I  mused  on  these  things,  and  came  to 
a  conclusion  rather  bitter  for  one  of  my  years.  I 
would  tie  no  more  bonds,  to  have  them  cut  with  the 
sword;  if  love  must  be  slain,  love  should  be  born 
no  more ;  to  begin  was  but  to  prepare  a  sad  ending. 
I  would  not  be  drawn  on  to  confidence  or  friendship. 
I  chose  not  to  have  rather  than  to  lose,  not  to  taste 
rather  than  leave  undrained  the  cup  of  sweet  inti- 
macy. Thus  I  armed  my  boyhood  at  once  against 
grief  and  love.  In  all  that  I  did  in  after  days  this 
determination  was  always  with  me,  often  overborne 
for  the  time  by  emotions  and  passions,  but  always 
ready  to  reassert  itself  in  the  first  calm  hour,  and 
relentlessly  to  fetter  me  in  a  prison  of  my  own  mak- 
ing. My  God,  how  I  have  longed  for  friends  some- 
times ! 

Geoffrey  Owen  I  saw  but  once  again.  I  had 
written  twice  to  him,  and  received  respectful,  friendly, 
brief  answers.  But  the  sword  had  passed  through 


TWO   OF    MY    MAKERS.  45 

his  heart  also ;  he  did  not  respond  to  my  invitation, 
nor  show  a  desire  to  renew  our  intimacy.  Perhaps 
he  was  afraid  to  run  the  risk;  in  truth,  even  while 
I  urged  him,  I  was  half  afraid  myself.  Had  he  come 
again,  it  would  not  have  been  as  it  had  been  between 
us.  Very  likely  we  both  in  our  hearts  preferred  to 
rest  in  memories,  not  to  spoil  our  thoughts  by  dis- 
appointment, to  be  always  to  one  another  just  what 
we  had  been  as  we  rowed  together  that  last  after- 
noon at  Artenberg,  when  the  dim  shadow  of  parting 
did  no  more  than  deepen  our  affection  and  touch  it 
to  a  profounder  tenderness. 

And  that  time  when  I  saw  him  again?  I  was* 
driving  through  the  gates  of  an  English  palace,  en- 
circled by  a  brilliant  troop  of  soldiers,  cheered  by 
an  interested,  good-humoured  throng.  Far  back  in 
their  ranks,  but  standing  out  above  all  heads,  I  saw 
his  face,  paler  and  thinner,  more  gentle  even  and 
kindly.  He  wore  a  soft  hat  crushed  over  his  fore- 
head ;  as  I  passed  he  lifted  and  waved  it,  smiling 
his  old  smile  at  me.  I  waved  my  hand,  leaning  for- 
ward eagerly;  but  I  could  not  stop  the  procession. 
As  soon  as  I  was  within- 1  sent  an  equerry  to  seek 
him,  armed  with  a  description  that  he  could  not 
mistake.  But  Geoffrey  Owen  was  nowhere  to  be 
found,  he  had  not  awaited  my  messenger.  Having 
signalled  a  friend's  greeting  across  the  gulf  between 
us,  he  was  gone.  I  could  have  found  him,  for  I  knew 
that  he  dwelt  in  London,  working,  writing,  awaken- 
ing hope  in  many,  fear  in  some,  thought  in  all.  But 
I  would  not  seek  him  out,  nor  compel  him  to  come 
to  me,  since  he  would  not  of  his  own  accord.  So 
he  went  his  way,  I  mine,  and  I  have  seen  him  no 
more.'  Yet  ever  on  my  birthday  I  drain  a  cup  to 
him,  and  none  knows  to  whom  the  King  drinks  a 


46  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

full  glass  silently.  It  is  my  libation  on  a  friendship's 
grave.  Perhaps  it  would  support  an  interpretation 
more  subtle.  For  when  I  stood  between  Owen  and 
Hammerfeldt,  torn  this  way  and  that,  uncertain 
whom  I  should  follow  through  life,  was  not  I  the 
humble  transitory  theatre  of  a  great  and  secular 
struggle?  It  seems  to  me  that  then  the  Ideal  and 
the  Actual  joined  in  battle  over  me;  Hector  and 
Achilles,  and  I  the  body  of  Patroclus !  Alas,  poor 
body!  Greatly  the  combatants  desire  it,  little  they 
reck  of  the  roughness  it  suffers  in  their  struggle! 
The  Spirit  and  the  World — am  I  over-fanciful  if  I 
Seem  to  see  them  incarnated  in  Geoffrey  Owen  and 
old  Hammerfeldt?  And  victory  was  with  the  world. 
Yet  the  conquered  also  have  before  now  left  their 
mark  on  lands  which  they  could  not  hold. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SOMETHING   ABOUT   VICTORIA. 

I  FEEL  that  I  give  involuntarily  a  darker  colour 
to  my  life  than  the  truth  warrants.  When  we  sit 
down  and  reflect  we  are  apt  to  become  the  prey  of 
a  curious  delusion ;  pain  seems  to  us  the  only  reality, 
pleasure  a  phantasm  or  a  dream.  Yet  such  reality 
as  pain  has  pleasure  shares,  and  we  are  in  no  closer 
touch  with  eternal  truth  when  we  have  headaches 
(or  heartaches)  than  when  we  are  free  from  these 
afflictions.  I  wonder  sometimes  whether  a  false  idea 
of  dignity  does  not  mislead  us.  Would  we  all  pose 
as  martyrs?  It  is  nonsense;  for  most  of  us  life  is 
a  tolerable  enough  business — if  we  would  not  think 
too  much  about  it.  We  need  not  pride  ourselves  on 
our  griefs ;  it  seems  as  though  joy  were  the  higher 
state  because  it  is  the  less  self-conscious  and  rests  in 
fuller  harmony  with  the  great  order  that  encircles  us. 

As  I  grew  older  I  gained  a  new  and  abiding 
source  of  pleasure  in  the  contemplation  and  study 
of  my  sister  Victoria.  I  have  anticipated  matters  a 
little  in  telling  of  my  tutor's  departure ;  I  must  hark 
back  and  pick  up  the  thread  of  Victoria's  history  from 
the  time  when  I  was  hard  on  thirteen  and  she  near 
fifteen — the  time  when  she  had  implored  me  to  rid 
her  of  Krak.  I  had  hated  Krak  with  that  healthy 
full-blooded  antipathy  whose  faculty  one  seems  to 

47 


48  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

lose  in  later  years.  It  is  a  tiresome  thing  to  be  driven 
by  experience  to  the  discovery  of  some  good  in  every- 
body; your  fine  black  fades  to  neutral  gray;  often 
1  regret  the  delightfully  partial  views  of  earlier  days. 
And  so  many  people  succeed  in  preserving  them  to 
a  green  and  untutored  old  age !  They  are  Popes  al- 
ways to  their  heretics.  Such  was  and  is  Victoria ; 
she  never  changed  in  her  views  of  other  people.  In 
contrast  she  was,  as  regards  herself,  of  a  tempera- 
ment so  elastic  that  impressions  endured  hardly  a 
moment  beyond  the  blow,  and  pleasures  passed  with- 
out depositing  any  residuum  which  might  form  a 
store  against  evil  days.  If  Krak  had  cut  her  arm 
off,  its  perpetual  absence  might  have  made  Victoria 
remember  the  fault  which  was  paid  for  by  amputa- 
tion ;  the  moral  effect  of  rapid  knuckles  disappeared 
with  the  comfort  that  came  from  sucking  them. 
Perhaps  her  disposition  was  a  happy  chance  for  her ; 
since  the  Styrian  discipline  (although  not,  of  course, 
in  this  blankly  physical  form  later  on)  persisted  for 
her  long  after  it  had  been  softened  for  me.  I  touch 
again  perhaps  on  a  point  which  has  caught  my  at- 
tention before ;  undoubtedly  my  mother  kept  the 
status  of  childhood  imposed  on  Victoria  fully  as  long 
as  nature  countenanced  the  measures.  Krak  did  not 
go ;  a  laugh  greeted  my  hint.  Krak  stayed  till  Vic- 
toria was  sixteen.  For  my  part,  since  it  was  in- 
evitable that  Krak  should  discipline  somebody,  I 
think  heaven  was  mild  in  setting  her  on  Victoria. 
Had  I  stayed  under  her  sway  I  should  have  run 
mad.  Victoria  laughed,  cried,  joked,  dared,  sub- 
mitted, offended,  defied,  suffered,  wept,  and  laughed 
again  all  in  a  winter's  afternoon.  She  was  by  way 
of  putting  on  the  dignity  of  an  elder  with  me  and 
shutting  off  from  my  gaze  her  trials  and  reverses. 


SOMETHING  ABOUT   VICTORIA. 


49 


But  there  was  no  one  else  to  tell  the  joke  to,  and  I 
had  it  all  each  night  before  I  slept. 

But  now  Victoria  was  sixteen  ;  and  Krak,  elderly, 
pensioned,  but  unbroken,  was  gone.  She  went  back 
to  Styria  to  chasten  and  ultimately  to  enrich  (I  would 
not  for  the  world  have  been  privy  to  their  prayers) 
some  nephews  and  nieces.  It  seemed  strange,  but 
Krak  was  homesick  for  Styria.  She  went;  Victoria 
gave  her  the  tribute  of  a  tear,  surprised  out  of  her 
before  she  remembered  her  causes  for  exultation. 
Then  came  their  memory,  and  she  was  outrageously 
triumphant.  A  new  era  began  ;  the  buffer  was  gone  ; 
my  mother  and  Victoria  were  face  and  face.  And  in 
a  year  as  Victoria  said,  in  two  or  three  as  my  mother 
allowed,  Victoria  would  be  grown  up. 

I  was  myself,  most  unwillingly,  a  cause  of  annoy- 
ance to  Victoria,  and  a  pretext  for  her  repression. 
Importance  flowed  in  on  me  unasked,  unearned.  To 
speak  in  homely  fashion,  she  was  always  "  a  bad  sec- 
ond," and  none  save  herself  attributed  to  her  the 
normal  status  of  privileges  of  an  elder  sister.  Her 
wrath  was  not  visited  on  me,  but  on  those  who  ex- 
alted me  so  unduly ;  even  while  she  resented  my 
position  she  was  not,  as  I  have  shown,  above  using 
it  for  her  own  ends ;  this  adaptability  was  not  due 
to  guile ;  she  forgot  one  mood  when  another  came, 
and  compromised  her  pretensions  in  the  effort  to 
compass  her  desires.  Princess  Heinrich  seized  on 
the  inconsistency,  and  pointed  it  out  to  her  daughter 
with  an  exasperating  lucidity. 

"  You  are  ready  enough  to  remember  that  Augus- 
tin  is  king  when  you  want  anything  from  him,"  she 
would  observe.  "  You  forget  it  only  when  you  are 
asked  to  give  way  to  him." 

Victoria  would  make  no  reply — the  Krak  tradi- 


50  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

tions  endured  to  prevent  an  answer  to  rebukes — but 
when  we  were  alone  she  used  to  remark,  "  I  should 
think  an  iceberg's  rather  like  a  mother.  Only  one 
needn't  live  with  icebergs." 

Quite  suddenly,  as  it  seemed,  it  occurred  to  Vic- 
toria that  she  was  pretty.  She  lost  no  time  in  adver- 
tising the  discovery  through  the  medium  of  a  thou- 
sand new  tricks  and  graces;  a  determined  assault 
on  the  affections  of  all  the  men  about  us,  from  the 
lords-in-waiting  down  to  the  stablemen — an  assault 
that  ignored  existing  domestic  ties  or  pre-arranged 
affections — was  the  next  move  in  her  campaign. 
When  she  was  extremely  angry  with  her  mother  she 
would  say,  "  How  odious  it  must  be  not  to  be  young 
any  more !  "  I  thought  that  there  was  sometimes  a 
wistful  look  in  my  mother's  eyes ;  was  she  thinking 
of  Krak,  Krak  in  far-off  Styria?  Perhaps  for  once, 
when  Victoria  was  hitting  covertly  at  Krak,  my 
mother  remarked  in  a  very  cold  voice : 

"  You  remember  your  punishments,  you  don't  re- 
member your  offences,  Victoria." 

I  could  linger  long  on  these  small  matters,  for  I 
find  more  interest  and  incitement  to  analysis  in  the 
attitude  of  women  toward  women  than  in  their  more 
obvious  relations  with  men ;  but  I  must  pass  over  a 
year  of  veiled  conflict,  and  come  to  that  incident 
which  'is  the  salient  point  in  Victoria's  girlish  his- 
tory. It  coincided  almost  exactly  in  time  with  the 
dismissal  of  Geoffrey  Owen,  and  my  pre-occupation 
with  that  event  diverted  my  attention  from  the  earlier 
stages  of  Victoria's  affair.  She  was  just  seventeen, 
grown  up  in  her  own  esteem  (and  she  adduced  many 
precedents  to  fortify  her  contention),  but  in  my 
mother's  eyes  still  wanting  a  year  of  quiet  home  life 
before  she  should  be  launched  into  society.  Vic- 


SOMETHING  ABOUT   VICTORIA.  ^r 

toria  acquiesced  perforce,  but  turned  the  flank  of  the 
decree  by  ensuring  that  the  home  life  should  be  by 
no  means  quiet.  She  set  to  work  to  prepare  for  us 
a  play;  comedy  or  tragedy  I  knew  not  then,  and 
am  not  now  quite  clear.  Our  nearest  neighbour  at 
Artenberg  dwelt  across  the  river  in  the  picturesque 
old  castle  of  Waldenweiter ;  he  was  a  young  man 
of  twenty-two  at  this  time,  handsome,  pleasant,  and 
ready  for  amusement.  His  father  being  dead,  Fred- 
erick was  his  own  master — that  is  to  say,  he  had 
no  master.  Victoria  fell  in  love  with  him.  The 
Baron,  it  seemed,  was  not  disinclined  for  a  romance 
with  a  pretty  princess  ;  perhaps  he  thought  that  noth- 
ing serious  would  come  of  it,  and  that  it  was  a  pleas- 
ant way  enough  of  passing  a  summer;  or,  perhaps, 
being  but  twenty-two,  he  did  not  think  at  all,  unless 
to  muse  on  the  depth  of  the  blue  in  Victoria's  eyes, 
and  the  comely  lines  of  her  figure  as  she  rowed  on 
the  river.  To  say  truth,  Victoria  gave  him  small  time 
for  reflection. 

As  I  am  convinced,  before  he  had  well  considered 
the  situation  he  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  attending 
a  rendezvous  in  a  backwater  of  the  stream  about  a 
mile  above  Artenberg.  Victoria  never  went  out  un- 
accompanied, and  never  came  back  unaccompanied ; 
it  was  discovered  afterward  that  the  trusted  old  boat- 
man could  be  bought  off  with  the  price  of  beer,  and 
used  to  disembark  and  seek  an  ale  house  so  soon 
as  the  backwater  was  reached.  The  meeting  over, 
Victoria  would  return  in  high  spirits  and  displaying 
an  unusual  affection  toward  my  mother,  either  as 
a  blind,  or  through  remorse,  or  (as  I  incline  to  think) 
through  an  amiability  born  of  triumph ;  there  was  at 
times  even  a  touch  of  commiseration  in  her  manner, 
and  more  than  once  she  spoke  to  me,  in  a  tone  of 


52  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

philosophical  speculation,  on  the  uselessness  of  en- 
deavouring to  repress  natural  feelings  and  the  futil- 
ity of  treating  as  children  persons  who  were  already 
grown  up.  This  mood  lasted  some  time,  so  long, 
1  suppose,  as  the  stolen  delight  of  doing  the  thing 
was  more  prominent  than  the  delight  in  the  thing 
itself.  A  month  passed  and  brought  a  change.  Now 
she  was  silent,  absent,  pensive,  very  kind  to  me,  more 
genuinely  submissive  and  dutiful  to  her  mother.  The 
first  force  of  my  blow  had  left  me,  for  Owen  had 
been  gone  now  some  months ;  I  began  to  observe 
my  sister  carefully.  To  my  amazement  she,  formerly 
the  most  heedless  of  creatures,  knew  in  an  instant 
that  she  was  watched.  She  drew  off  from  me,  setting 
a  distance  between  us ;  my  answer  was  to  withdraw 
my  companionship,  since  only  thus  could  I  convince 
her  that  I  had  no  desire  to  spy.  I  had  not  guessed 
the  truth,  and  my  mother  had  no  inkling  of  it.  Prin- 
cess Heinrich's  ignorance  may  seem  strange,  but  I 
have  often  observed  that  persons  of  a  masterful  tem- 
per are  rather  easy  to  delude ;  they  have  such  diffi- 
culty in  conceiving  that  they  can  be  disobeyed  as 
to  become  ready  subjects  for  hoodwinking;  I  recol- 
lect old  Hammerfeldt  saying  to  me,  "  In  public  af- 
fairs, sire,  always  expect  disobedience,  but  be  chary 
of  rewarding  obedience."  My  mother  adopted  the 
second  half  of  the  maxim  but  disregarded  the  first. 
She  always  expected  obedience ;  Victoria  knew  it 
and  built  on  her  knowledge  a  confident  hope  of  im- 
punity in  deceit. 

Now  on  what  harsh  word  have  I  stumbled  ?  For 
deceit  savours  of  meanness.  Let  me  amend  and  seek 
the  charity,  the  neutral  tolerance,  of  some  such  word 
as  concealment.  For  things  good  and  things  bad 
may  be  concealed,  things  that  people  should  know 


SOMETHING  ABOUT   VICTORIA.  53 

and  things  that  concern  them  not,  great  secrets  of 
State  and  the  flutterings  of  hearts.  Victoria  prac- 
tised concealment. 

I  found  her  crying  once,  crying  alone  in  a  corner 
of  the  terrace  under  "a  ludicrous  old  statue  of  Mer- 
cury. I  was  amazed;  I  had  not  seen  her  cry  so 
heartily  since  Krak  had  last  ill-treated  her.  I  put  it 
to  her  that  some  such  affliction  must  be  responsible 
for  her  despair. 

"  I  wish  it  was  only  that,"  she  answered.  "  Do 
go  away,  Augustin." 

"  I  don't  want  to  stay,"  said  I.  "  Only  if  you 
want  anything " 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could !  "  she  said  with  a  sudden 
flush.  "  No,  it's  no  use,"  she  went  on.  "  And  it's 
nothing.  Augustin,  if  you  tell  mother  you  found  me 
crying,  I'll  never " 

"  You  know  quite  well  that  I  never  tell  anybody 
anything,"  said  I,  rather  offended. 

"  Then  go  away,  dear,"  urged  Victoria. 

I  went  away.  I  had  been  feeling  very  lonely  my- 
self, and  had  sought  out  Victoria  for  company's  sake. 
However,  I  went  and  walked  alone  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  river.  It  was  clear  that  Victoria  did  not 
want  me,  and  apparently  I  could  do  nothing  for  her. 
I  have  never  found  myself  able  to  do  very  much  for 
people,  except  those  who  did  not  deserve  to  have 
anything  done  for  them.  Perhaps  poor  Victoria 
didn't,  but  I  was  not  aware  of  her  demerits  then. 
I  repeated  to  the  river  my  old  reflection :  "  I  don't 
see  that  it's  much  use  being  king,  you  know,"  said 
I  as  I  flung  a  pebble  and  looked  across  at  the  towers 
of  Waldenweiter.  "  That  fellow's  better  off  than  I 
am,"  said  I ;  and  I  wished  again  that  Victoria  had 
not  sent  me  away.  There  is  a  period  of  life  during 


54  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

which  one  is  always  being  sent  away,  and  it  is  not 
quite  over  for  me  yet  in  spite  of  my  dignity. 

At  last  came  the  crash.  A  little  carelessness  born 
of  habit  and  impunity,  the  treachery  of  the  old  boat- 
man under  the  temptation  of  a  gold  piece,  the  girl's 
lack  of  savoir  faire  when  charged  with  the  offence — 
here  was  enough,  and  more  than  enough.  I  recol- 
lect being  summoned  to  my  mother's  room  late  one 
evening,  just  about  my  bedtime.  I  went  and  found 
her  alone  with  Victoria.  The  Princess  sat  in  her 
great  arm-chair;  Victoria  was  leaning  against  the 
wall  when  I  entered;  her  handkerchief  was  crushed 
in  one  hand,  the  other  hand  clenched  by  her 
side. 

"  Augustin,"  said  the  Princess,  "  Victoria  and  I 
go  to  Biarritz  to-morrow." 

Victoria's  quick  breathing  was  her  only  com- 
ment. My  mother  told  me  in  brief,  curt,  offensive 
phrases  that  Victoria  had  been  carrying  on  a  flirtation 
with  our  opposite  neighbour.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
I  looked  surprised. 

"  You  may  well  wonder !  "  cried  my  mother.  "  If 
she  could  not  remember  what  she  was  herself,  she 
might  have  remembered  that  the  King  was  her 
brother." 

"  I've  done  nothing "  Victoria  began. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  my  mother.  "  If  you 
were  in  Styria,  instead  of  here,  you'd  be  locked  up 
in  your  own  room  for  a  month  on  bread  and  water; 
yes,  you  may  think  yourself  lucky  that  I  only  take 
you  to  Biarritz." 

"  Styria !  "  said  Victoria  with  a  very  bitter  smile. 
"  If  I  were  in  Styria  I  should  be  beheaded,  I  dare- 
say, or — or  knouted,  or  something.  Oh,  I  know 
what  Styria  means!  Krak  taught  me  that." 


SOMETHING  ABOUT   VICTORIA.  55 

"  I  wish  the  Baroness  was  here,"  observed  the 
Princess. 

"  You'd  tell  her  to  beat  me,  I  suppose?  "  flashed 
out  my  sister. 

"  If  you  were  three  years  younger —  '  began 
my  mother  with  perfect  outward  composure.  Vic- 
toria interrupted  her  passionately. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  my  age.  I'm  a  child  still. 
Come  and  beat  me !  "  she  cried,  assuming  the  air  of 
an  Iphigenia. 

To  this  day  I  am  of  opinion  that  she  ran  a  risk 
in  giving  this  invitation ;  it  was  well  on  the  cards 
that  the  Princess  might  have  accepted  it.  Indeed 
had  it  been  Styria — but  it  was  not  Styria.  My  moth- 
er turned  to  me  with  a  cold  smile. 

"  You  perceive,"  said  she,  "  the  spirit  in  which 
your  sister  meets  me  because  I  object  to  her  com- 
promising herself  with  this  wretched  baron.  She  ac- 
cuses me  of  persecution,  and  talks  as  though  I  were 
an  executioner." 

I  had  been  looking  very  curiously  at  Victoria. 
She  was  in  a  dressing-gown,  having  been  called,  ap- 
parently, from  her  bedroom ;  her  hair  was  over  her 
shoulders.  She  looked  most  prettily  woe-begone — 
like  Juliet  before  her  angry  father,  or,  as  I  say, 
Iphigenia  before  the  knife.  In  a  moment  she  broke 
out  again. 

"  Nobody  feels  for  me,"  she  complained.  "  What 
can  Augustin  know  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  observed  my  mother.  "  But  although 
I  know " 

"  Oh,  you've  forgotten,"  cried  Victoria  scornfully. 

For  a  moment  my  mother  flushed.  I  was  glad 
on  all  accounts  that  Victoria  did  not  repeat  her  pre- 
vious invitation  now.  On  the  contrary,  when  she 


56  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

had  looked  at  Princess  Heinrich,  she  gave  a  sudden 
frightened  sob,  rushed  across  the  room,  and  flung 
herself  on  her  knees  at  my  feet. 

"You're  the  king!"  she  cried.  "  Protect  me, 
protect  me !  " 

Throughout  all  this  very  painful  interview  I 
seemed  to  hear  as  it  were  echoes  of  the  romances 
which  I  had  read  on  Victoria's  recommendation ;  the 
reminiscence  was  particularly  strong  in  this  last  ex- 
clamation. However,  it  is  not  safe  to  conclude  that 
feelings  are  not  sincere  because  they  are  expressed 
in  conventional  phrases.  These  formulas  are  moulds 
into  which  our  words  run  easily ;  though  the  moulds 
be  hollow,  the  stuff  that  fills  them  may  be  solid 
enough. 

"  Why,  you  don't  want  to  marry  him  ?  "  I  ex- 
claimed, much  embarrassed  at  being  prematurely 
forced  into  functions  of  a  pere  de  famille. 

"  I'll  never  marry  anybody  else,"  moaned  Vic- 
toria. My  mother's  face  was  the  picture  of  disgust 
and  scorn. 

"  That's  another  thing,"  said  she.  "  At  least  the 
King  would  not  hear  of  such  a  marriage  as  this." 

•  "  Do  you  want  to  marry  him  ?  "  I  asked  Victoria, 
chiefly,  I  confess,  in  curiosity.  I  had  risen — or  fallen 
— in  some  degree  to  my  position,  and  it  seemed 
strange  to  me  that  my  sister  should  wish  to  marry 
this  Baron  Fritz. 

"  I — I  love  him,  Augustin,"  groaned  Victoria. 

"  She  knows  it's  impossible,  as  well  as  you 
do,"  said  my  mother.  "  She  doesn't  really  want  to 
do  it." 

Victoria  cried  quietly,  but  made  no  reply  or  pro- 
test. I  was  bewildered ;  I  did  not  understand  then 
how  we  may  passionately  desire  a  thing  which  we 


SOMETHING  ABOUT   VICTORIA.  57 

would  not  do,  and  may  snatch  at  the  opposition  of 
others  as  an  excuse  alike  for  refusal  and  for  tears. 
Looking  back,  I  do  not  think  had  we  set  Victoria 
free  in  the  boat,  and  put  the  sculls  in  her  hands,  that 
she  would  have  rowed  over  to  Waldenweiter.  But 
did  she,  then,  deserve  no  pity?  Perhaps  she  deserved 
more ;  for  not  two  weak  creatures  like  the  Princess 
(I  crave  her  pardon)  and  myself  stood  between  her 
and  her  wishes,  but  she  herself — the  being  that  she 
had  been  fashioned  into,  her  whole  life,  her  nature, 
and  her  heart,  as  our  state  had  made  them.  If  our 
soul  be  our  prison,  and  ourself  the  jailer,  in  vain 
shall  we  plan  escape  or  offer  bribes  for  freedom; 
wheresoever  we  go  we  carry  the  walls  with  us, 
and  if  death,  then  death  alone  can  unlock  the 
gates. 

The  scene  grew  quieter.  Victoria  rose,  and  threw 
herself  into  a  chair  in  a  weary,  puzzled  desolation ; 
my  mother  sat  quite  still,  with  eyes  intent  on  the- 
floor,  and  lips  close  shut.  A  sense  of  awkwardness 
grew  strong  on  me  ;  I  wanted  to  get  out  of  the  room. 
They  would  not  fight  any  more  now ;  they  would  be 
very  distant  to  one  another ;  and,  moreover,  it  seemed 
clear  that  Victoria  did  not  propose  to  marry  Baron 
Fritz.  But  what  about  poor  Baron  Fritz?  I  ap- 
proached my  mother,  and  whispered  a  question.  She 
answered  me  aloud. 

"  I  have  written  to  Prince  von  Hammerfeldt.  A 
letter  from  him  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  be  enough  to 
insure  us  against  further  impertinence." 

Victoria  dabbed  her  eyes,  but  no  protest  came 
from  her. 

"  We  shall  start  mid-day  to-morrow,"  the  Prin- 
cess pursued,  "  unless,  of  course,  Victoria  refuses  to 
accompany  me."     Her  voice  took  a  tinge  of  irony. 
5 


58  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

"  Possibly  your  wishes  may  persuade  her,  Augustin, 
if  mine  can  not." 

Victoria  raised  her  head  suddenly,  and  said  very 
distinctly : 

"  I  will  do  what  Augustin  tells  me."  The  em- 
phatic word  in  that  sentence  was  "  Augustin." 

My  mother  smiled  bitterly ;  she  understood  well 
enough  the  implicit  declaration  of  war,  the  appeal 
from  her  to  me,  the  shifting  of  allegiance.  I  daresay 
that  she  saw  the  absurdity  of  putting  a  boy  not  yet 
sixteen  into  such  a  position ;  but  I  know  that  I  felt 
it  much  more  strongly. 

"  Oh,  you'd  better  go,  hadn't  you?"  I  asked 
uncomfortably.  "  You  wouldn't  be  very  jolly  here, 
you  know." 

"  I'll  do  as  you  tell  me,  Augustin." 

"  Yes,  we  are  both  at  your  orders,"  said  my 
mother. 

It  crossed  my  mind  that  their  journey  would  not 
be  a  very  pleasant  one,  but  I  did  not  feel  able  to 
enter  into  that  side  of  the  question.  I  resented  this 
reference  to  me,  and  desired  to  be  rid  of  the  affair. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  do  as  mother  suggests," 
said  I. 

"  Very  well,  Augustin,"  said  Victoria,  and  she 
rose  to  her  feet.  She  was  a  tall,  graceful  girl,  and 
looked  very  stately  as  she  walked  by  her  mother. 
The  Princess  made  no  movement  or  sign ;  the  grim 
smile  persisted  on  her  lips.  After  a  moment  or  two 
of  wavering  I  followed  my  sister  from  the  room.  She 
was  just  ahead  of  me  in  the  passage,  moving  toward 
her  bedroom  with  a  slow,  listless  tread.  An  impulse 
of  sympathy  came  upon  me ;  I  ran  after  her,  caught 
her  by  the  arm,  and  kissed  her. 

"  Cheer  up,"  I  said. 


SOMETHING   ABOUT   VICTORIA. 


59 


"  Oh,  it's  all  right,  Augustin,"  said  she,  "  I've 
only  been  a  fool." 

There  seemed  nothing  else  to  do,  so  I  kissed  her 
again. 

"  Fancy,  Biarritz  with  mother ! "  she  moaned. 
Then  she  turned  on  me  suddenly,  almost  fiercely. 
"But  what's  the  good  of  asking  anything  of  you? 
You're  afraid  of  mother  still." 

I  drew  back  as  though  she  had  struck  me.  A 
moment  later  her  arms  were  round  my  neck. 

"  Oh,  never  mind,  my  dear,"  she  sobbed-  "  Don't 
you  see  I'm  miserable?  Of  course,  I  must  go  with 
her." 

I  had  never  supposed  that  any  other  course  was 
practicable.  The  introduction  of  myself  into  the  busi- 
ness had  been  but  a  move  in  the  game.  Nevertheless 
it  marked  the  beginning  of  a  new  position  for  me, 
as  rich  in  discomfort  as,  according  to  my  experience, 
are  most  extensions  of  power. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   STUDENT   OF   LOVE  AFFAIRS. 

THE  departure  to  Biarritz  was  carried  through 
without  further  overt  hostilities.  It  chanced  to  be 
holidays  with  me,  all  my  tutors  were  on  their  vaca- 
tion, my  governor,  Vohrenlorf,  on  a  visit  at  Berlin. 
Hearing  of  my  solitude,  he  insisted  on  making  ar- 
rangements to  return  speedily;  but  for  a  few  days 
I  was  left  quite  alone,  saving  for  the  presence  of  my 
French  body-servant  Baptiste.  I  liked  Baptiste ;  he 
was  by  conviction  an  anarchist,  by  prejudice  a  free- 
thinker ;  one  shrug  of  his  shoulders  disposed  of  the 
institutions  of  this  world,  another  relegated  the  next 
to  the  limbo  of  delusions.  He  was  always  respectful, 
but  possessed  an  unconquerably  intimate  manner ;  he 
could  not  forget  that  man  spoke  to  man,  although 
one  might  be  putting  on  the  other's  boots  for  him. 
He  regarded  me  with  mingled  affection  and  pity.  I 
had  overheard  him  speaking  of  le  pauvre  petit  roi; 
the  point  of  view  was  so  much  my  own  that  from  the 
instant  my  heart  went  out  to  Baptiste.  Since  he  at- 
tributed to  me  no  sacro-sanctity,  he  was  not  officious 
or  persistent  in  his  attendance  while  he  was  on  duty ; 
in  fact  he  left  me  very  much  to  my  own  devices. 
To  my  mother  he  was  polite  but  cold ;  he  adored 
Victoria,  declaring  that  she  was  worthy  of  being 
French;  his  great  hatred  was  for  Hammerfeldt, 
60 


A  STUDENT   OF   LOVE  AFFAIRS.  6l 

whom  he  accused  of  embodying  the  devil  of  Teu- 
tonism.  Hammerfeldt  was  aware  of  his  feelings  and 
played  with  them,  while  he  trusted  Baptiste  more 
than  anybody  about  me.  He  did  not  know  how  at- 
tached I  was  to  the  Frenchman,  and  I  did  not  intend 
that  he  should  learn.  I  had  received  a  sharp  lesson 
with  regard  to  parading  my  preferences. 

It  was  through  Baptiste  that  I  heard  of  Baron 
Fritz's  side  of  the  case,  for  Baptiste  was  friendly  with 
Fritz's  servants.  The  Baron,  it  appeared,  was  in 
despair.  "  They  watch  him  when  he  walks  by  the 
river,"  declared  Baptiste  with  a  gesture  in  which 
dismay  and  satisfaction  were  curiously  blended. 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  said  I,  leaning  back  in  the  stern 
of  the  boat.  To  be  in  such  a  state  on  Victoria's  ac- 
count was  odd  and  deplorable. 

Baptiste  laid  down  the  sculls  and  leaned  forward 
smiling. 

"  It  is  nothing,  sire,"  said  he.  "  It  must  happen 
now  and  again  to  all  of  us.  M.  le  Baron  will  soon 
be  well.  Meanwhile  he  is — oh,  miserable  !  " 

"  Is  he  all  alone  there?  "  I  asked. 

"  Absolutely,  sire.    He  will  see  nobody." 

I  looked  up  at  Waldenweiter. 

"  He  has  not  even  his  mother  with  him,"  said 
Baptiste;  the  remark,  as  Baptiste  delivered  it,  was 
impertinent,  and  yet  so  intangibly  impertinent  as  to 
afford  no  handle  for  reproof.  He  meant  that  the 
Baron  was  free  from  an  aggravation ;  he  said  that  he 
lacked  a  consolation. 

"  Shall  I  go  and  see  him  ?  "  I  asked.  In  truth  I 
was  rather  curious  about  him ;  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
me  to  break  out  of  my  own  surroundings. 

"  What  would  the  Prince  say  ?  "  said  Baptiste. 

"  He  need  not  know.    Row  ashore  there." 


62  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  You  must  not  go,  sire.  It  would  be  known,  and 
they  would  say "  Baptiste's  shrug  was  eloquent. 

"  Do  they  always  talk  about  everything  one 
does?" 

"  Certainly,  sire,  it  is  your  privilege,"  smiled  my 
servant.  "  But  I  think  he  might  come  to  you.  That 
could  be  managed;  not  in  the  Schloss,  but  in  the 
wood,  quite  privately.  I  can  contrive  it." 

Baptiste  did  contrive  it,  and  Baron  Fritz  came. 
I  was  now  just  too  old  to  scorn  love,  just  too  young 
to  sympathize  fully  with  it.  There  is  that  age  in  a 
boy's  life,  but  since  he  holds  his  tongue  about  it,  it 
is.apt  to  escape  notice,  and  people  jest  on  the  sudden 
change  in  his  attitude  toward  women.  Nothing  in 
nature  is  sudden ;  no  more,  then,  is  this  transition. 
I  looked  curiously  at  Fritz ;  he  was  timid  with  me. 
I  perceived  that  he  was  not  an  ordinary  young  noble- 
man, devoted  only  to  sport  and  wine ;  he  had  some- 
thing of  Owen's  romance,  but  in  him  it  was  self- 
centred,  not  open  wide  to  embrace  the  universe  of 
things  beautiful  and  ugly.  He  thanked  me  for  re- 
ceiving him  in  a  rather  elaborate  and  artificial  fash- 
ion. I  wondered  at  once  that  he  had  caught  Vic- 
toria's fancy ;  her  temperament  seemed  too  robust 
for  him.  He  began  to  speak  of  her  in  some  very 
poetical  phrases;  he  quoted  a  line  of  poetry  about 
Diana  and  Endymion.  I  had  been  made  to  turn  it 
into  Latin  verses,  and  its  sentiment  fell  cold  on  my 
soul.  He  spoke  of  his  passion  with  desperation,  and 
I  thought  with  pride.  He  said  that,  happen  what 
might,  his  whole  life  was  the  Princess's ;  but  he  did 
not  mention  Victoria's  name,  he  said  "  her "  with 
an  air  of  mystery,  as  though  spies  lurked  in  the 
woods.  There  was  nobody  save  Baptiste,  standing 
sentry  to  guard  this  secret  meeting.  I  gave  the 


A   STUDENT   OF    LOVE   AFFAIRS.  63 

Baron  a  cigarette,  and  lit  one  myself ;  I  had  begun 
the  habit,  though  still  surreptitiously. 

"  You  must  have  known  there'd  be  a  row  ?  "  I 
suggested. 

"  Tell  me  of  her !  "  he  cried.  "  Is  she  in  great 
grief?" 

I  did  not  want  to  tell  him  about  Victoria;  I 
wanted  him  to  tell  me  about  himself.  As  soon  as  he 
understood  this,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  he  gratified 
me  at  once.  I  sat  looking  at  him  while  he  described 
his  feelings ;  all  at  once  he  turned  and  discovered 
my  gaze  on  him.  - 

"  Go  on,"  said  I. 

The  Baron  appeared  uncomfortable.  His  eyes 
fell  to  the  ground,  and  he  tried  to  puff  at  his  cigarette 
which  he  had  allowed  to  go  out.  I  daresay  he 
thought  me  a  strange  boy;  but  he  could  not  very 
well  say  so. 

"You  don't  understand  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Partly,"  I  answered. 

"  We  never  had  any  hope/'  said  he,  almost  lux- 
uriously. 

"  But  you  enjoyed  it  very  much  ?  "  I  suggested ; 
I  was  quite  grave  about  it  in  my  mind,  as  well  as  in 
my  face. 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  he  softly. 

"  And  now  it's  all  over !  " 

"  I  see  her  no  more.  I  think  of  her.  She  thinks 
of  me." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  I  meditatively.  I  was  wonder- 
ing whether  they  did  not  think  more  about  them- 
selves. "  Didn't  you  think  you  might  manage  it?" 

"  Alas,  no.    Sorrow  was  always  in  our  joy." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  What  is  there  for  me  to  do  ?  "  he  asked  despair- 


64  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

ingly.  "  Sometimes  I  think  that  I  can  not  endure 
to  live." 

"  Baptiste  told  me  that  they  watched  you  when 
you  walked  by  the  river." 

He  turned  to  me  with  a  very  interested  expression 
of  face. 

"  Do  they  really?  "  he  asked. 

"  So  Baptiste  said." 

"  I  promised  her  that,  whatever  happened,  I 
would  do  nothing  rash,"  said  he.  "  What  would  her 
feelings  be  ?  " 

"  We  should  all  be  very  mucji  distressed,"  said  I, 
in  my  best  court  manner. 

"  Ah,  the  world,  the  world !  "  sighed  Baron  Fritz. 
Then  with  an  air  of  great  courage  he  went  on. 
"  Yet,  how  am  I  so  different  from  her?  " 

"  I  think  you  are  very  much  alike,"  said  I. 

"  But  she  is — a  Princess  !  " 

I  felt  that  he  was  laying  a  sort  of  responsibility 
on  me.  I  could  not  help  Victoria  being  a  Princess. 
He  laughed  bitterly ;  I  seemed  to  be  put  on  my  de- 
fence. 

"  I  think  it  just  as  absurd  as  you  do,"  I  hastened 
to  say. 

"  Absurd!"  he  echoed.  "I  didn't  say  that  I 
thought  it  absurd.  Would  not  your  Majesty  rather 
say  tragic  ?  There  must  be  kings,  princes,  princesses 
— our  hearts  pay  the  price." 

I  was  growing  rather  weary  of  this  Baron,  and 
wondering  more  and  more  what  Victoria  had  dis- 
covered in  him.  But  my  lack  of  knowledge  led  me 
into  an  error ;  I  attributed  what  wearied  me  in  no 
degree  to  the  Baron  himself,  but  altogether  to  his 
condition.  "  This,  then,  is  what  it  is  to  be  in  love," 
I  was  saying  to  myself;  I  summoned  up  the  relics 


A  STUDENT   OF   LOVE  AFFAIRS.  65 

of  my  scorn  once  so  abundant  and  vigorous.  The 
Baron  perhaps  detected  the  beginnings  of  ennui;  he 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Forgive  me,  if  I  say  that  your  Majesty  will 
understand  my  feelings  better  in  two  or  three  years," 
he  observed. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall,"  I  answered,  rather  uneasily. 

"  Meanwhile  I  must  live  it  down ;  I  must  mas- 
ter it." 

"  It's  the  only  thing  to  do." 

«  And  she " 

"  Oh,  she'll  get  over  it,"  I  assured  him,  nodding 
my  head. 

I  am  inclined  sometimes  to  count  it  among  my 
misfortunes,  that  the  first  love  affair  with  which  I 
was  brought  into  intimate  connection  and  con- 
fronted at  an  age  still  so  impressionable,  should  have 
been  of  the  shallow  and  somewhat  artificial  charac- 
ter betrayed  by  the  romance  of  my  sister  and  Baron 
Fritz.  She  was  a  headstrong  girl ;  longing  to  exer- 
cise power  over  men,  surprised  when  a  temporary 
gust  of  feeling  carried  her  into  an  emotion  unex- 
pectedly strong ;  he  was  a  self-conscious  fellow,  hug- 
ging his  woes  and  delighting  in  the  picturesqueness 
of  his  misfortune.  The  notion  left  on  my  mind  was 
that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  about  the 
matter.  Baptiste  strengthened  my  opinion. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  sire,"  he  said  with  a  shrug, 
"  but  we  know  the  sentimentality  of  the  Germans. 
What  is  it?  Sighs  and  then  beer,  more  sighs  and 
more  beer,  a  deluge  of  sighs  and  a  deluge  of  beer. 
A  Frenchman  is  not  like  that  in  his  little  affairs." 

"  What  does  a  Frenchman  do,  Baptiste  ?  "  I  had 
the  curiosity  to  ask. 

"  Ah,"  laughed  Baptiste,  "  if  I  told  your  Majesty 


66  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

now,  you  would  not  care  to  visit  Paris ;  and  I  long 
to  go  to  Paris  with  your  Majesty." 

I  did  not  pursue  the  subject.  I  was  conscious  of 
a  disenchantment,  begun  by  Victoria,  continued  by  the 
Baron.  The  reaction  made  in  favour  of  my  mother. 
I  acknowledged  the  wisdom  of  her  firmness  and 
an  excuse  for  her  anger.  I  realized  her  causes  for 
annoyance  and  shame,  and  saw  the  hollowness  of  the 
lovers'  pleas.  I  had  thought  the  Princess  very  hard ; 
I  was  now  inclined  to  think  that  she  had  shown  as 
much  self-control  as  could  be  expected  from  her. 
Rather  to  my  own  surprise  I  found  myself  extend- 
ing this  more  favourable  judgment  of  her  to  other 
matters,  entering  with  a  new  sympathy  into  her  dis- 
position, and  even  forgiving  some  harsh  thing  which 
I  had  never  pardoned.  The  idea  suggested  itself  to 
my  mind,  that  even  the  rigours  of  the  Styrian  dis- 
cipline had  a  rational  relation  to  the  position  which 
the  victims  of  it  were  destined  to  fill.  She  might 
be  right  in  supposing  that  we  could  not  be  allowed 
the  indulgence  accorded  to  the  common  run  of  chil- 
dren. We  were  destined  for  a  special  purpose,  and, 
if  we  were  not  made  of  a  special  clay,  yet  we  must 
be  fashioned  into  a  special  shape.  It  is  hard  to  dis- 
entangle the  influence  of  one  event  from  that  ex- 
erted by  another.  Perhaps  the  loss  of  Owen,  and 
the  consequently  increased  influence  of  Hammer- 
feldt  over  my  life  and  thoughts,  had  as  much  to  do 
with  my  new  feelings  as  Victoria's  love  affair;  but 
in  any  case  I  date  from  this  time  a  fresh  development 
of  myself.  I  was  growing  into  my  kingship,  begin- 
ning to  realize  the  conception  of  it,  and  to  fill  up 
that  conception  in  my  own  mind.  This  moment  was 
of  importance  to  me ;  for  it  marked  the  beginning 
of  a  period  during  which  this  idea  of  my  position 


A   STUDENT   OF   LOVE  AFFAIRS.  67 

was  very  dominant  and  coloured  all  I  did  or  thought. 
I  did  not  change  my  opinion  as  to  the  discomfort 
.of  the  post;  but  its  importance,  its  sacredness,  and 
its  paramount  claims  grew  larger  and  larger  in  my 
eyes.  It  seems  curious,  but  had  Baron  Fritz  been 
a  different  sort  of  lover,  I  think  that  I  should  have 
been  in  some  respects  a  different  sort  of  a  king.  It 
needs  a  constant  intellectual  effort  to  believe  that 
there  is  anything  except  accident  in  the  course  of 
the  world. 

Hammerfeldt's  persistent  pressure  drove  the  love- 
lorn Baron,  still  undrowned  (had  the  watchers  been 
too  vigilant?),  on  a  long  foreign  tour,  and  in  three 
months  the  Princess  and  Victoria  returned.  I  saw 
at  once  that  the  new  relations  were  permanently  es- 
tablished between  them ;  my  mother  displayed  an 
almost  ostentatious  abdication  of  authority;  her 
whole  air  declared  that  since  Victoria  chose  to  walk 
alone,  alone  in  good  truth  she  should  walk.  It  was 
the  attitude  of  a  proud  and  domineering  nature  that 
answers  any  objection  to  its  sway  by  a  wholesale 
disclaimer  at  once  of  power  and  responsibility.  Vic- 
toria accepted  her  mother's  resolution,  but  rather 
with  resentment  than  gratitude.  They  had  managed 
the  affair  badly ;  my  mother  had  lost  influence  with- 
out gaining  affection ;  my  sister  had  forfeited  guid- 
ance but  not  achieved  a  true  liberty.  She  was  hardly 
more  her  own  mistress  than  before ;  Hammerfeldt, 
screened  behind  me,  now  trammelled  her,  and  she 
had  a  statesman  to  deal  with  instead  of  a  mother. 
Only  once  she  spoke  to  me  concerning  the  Baron 
and  his  affair;  the  three  months  had  wrought  some 
change  here  also. 

"  I  was  very  silly,"  she  said  impatiently.  "  I  know 
that  well  enough." 


68  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  make  it  up  with  mother  ?  " 
I  ventured  to  suggest. 

"  Mother  behaved  odiously,"  she  declared.  "  I 
can  never  forgive  her  the  way  she  treated  me." 

The  grievance  then  had  shifted  its  ground ;  not 
what  the  Princess  had  done,  but  the  manner  in  which 
she  had  done  it  was  now  the  head  and  front  of  her 
offence.  It  needed  little  acquaintance  with  the  world 
to  recognise  that  matters  were  not  improved  by  this 
change;  one  may  come  to  recognise  that  common 
sense  was  with  the  enemy ;  vanity  at  once  takes  refuge 
in  the  conviction  that  his  awkwardness,  rudeness,  or 
cruelty  in  advancing  his  case  was  responsible  for  all 
the  trouble. 

"  If  she  had  been  kind,  I  should  have  seen  it 
all  directly,"  said  Victoria.  And  in  this  it  may 
very  well  be  that  Victoria  was  not  altogether 
wrong. 

The  position  was,  however,  inconsistent  with  even 
moderate  comfort.  There  was  a  way  of  ending  it, 
obvious,  I  suppose,  to  everybody  save  myself,  but 
seeming  rather  startling  to  my  youthful  mind.  In 
six  months  now  Victoria  would  be  eighteen,  and 
eighteen  is  a  marriageable  age.  Victoria  must  be 
married;  my  mother  and  Hammerfeldt  went  hus- 
band-hunting. As  soon  as  I  heard  of  the  scheme 
I  was  ready  with  brotherly  sympathy,  and  even  cher- 
ished the  idea  of  interposing  a  hitherto  untried  royal 
veto  on  such  premature  haste  and  cruel  forcing  of 
a  girl's  inclination.  Victoria  received  my  advances 
with  visible  surprise.  Did  I  suppose,  she  asked, 
that  she  was  so  happy  at  home  as  to  shrink  from 
marriage?  Would  not  such  a  step  be  rather  an 
emancipation  than  a  banishment  ?  (I  paraphrase  and 
condense  her  observation.)  Did  I  not  perceive  that 


A  STUDENT   OF   LOVE   AFFAIRS.  69 

she  must  hail  the  prospect  with  relief?  I  was  to 
know  that  her  mother  and  herself  were  at  one  on 
this  matter;  she  was  obliged  for  my  kindness,  but 
thought  that  I  need  not  concern  myself  in  the  mat- 
ter. Considerably  relieved,  not  less  puzzled,  with  a 
picture  of  Victoria  sobbing  and  the  Baron  walking 
(well  watched)  by  the  river's  brink,  I  withdrew  from 
my  sister's  presence.  It  occurred  to  me  that  to  take 
a  husband  in  order  to  escape  from  a  mother  was  a 
peculiar  step ;  I  have  since  seen  reason  to  suppose 
that  it  is  more  common  than  I  imagined. 

The  history  of  my  private  life  is  (to  speak  broad- 
ly) the  record  of  the  reaction  of  my  public  capacity 
on  my  personal  position ;  the  effect  of  this  reaction 
has  been  almost  uniformly  unfortunate.  The  case  of 
Victoria's  marriage  affords  a  good  instance.  It  might 
have  been  that  here  at  least  I  should  be  suffered  to 
play  a  fraternal  and  grateful  part.  My  fate  and  Ham- 
merfeldt  ruled  otherwise.  There  were  two  persons 
who  suggested  themselves  as  suitable  mates  for  my 
sister ;  one  was  the  reigning  king  of  a  country  which 
I  need  not  name,  the  other  was  Prince  William  Adol- 
phus  of  Alt-Gronenstahl,  a  prince  of  considerable 
wealth  and  unexceptionable  descent  but  not  in  the 
direct  succession  to  a  throne,  not  likely  to  occupy 
a  prominent  position  in  Europe.  Victoria  had  never 
quite  forgiven  fortune  (or  perhaps  me  either)  for  not 
making  her  a  queen  in  the  first  instance;  she  was 
eager  to  repair  the  error.  She  came  to  me  and 
begged  me  to  exert  my  influence  in  behalf  of  the 
king,  who  was  understood  through  his  advisers  to 
favour  the  suggestion.  I  was  most  happy  to  second 
her  wishes,  although  entirely  sceptical  as  to  the  value 
of  my  assistance.  I  recollect  very  well  the  interview 
that  followed  between  Hammerfeldt  and  myself; 


70  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

throughout  the  Prince  treated  me  en  roi,  speaking 
with  absolute  candour,  disclosing  to  me  the  whole 
question,  and  assuming  in  me  an  elevation  of  spirit 
superior  to  merely  personal  feelings. 

"  After  your  Majesty,"  said  he,  "  the  Princess  is 
heir  to  the  throne.  We  have  received  representations 
that  the  union  of  the  two  countries  in  one  hand 
could  not  be  contemplated  by  the  Powers.  Now 
you,  sire,  are  young;  you  are  and  must  be  for  some 
years  unmarried ;  life  is  uncertain  and "  (here  he 
looked  at  me  steadily)  "  your  physicians  are  of  opin- 
ion that  certain  seeds  of  weakness,  sown  by  your 
severe  illness,  have  not  yet  been  eradicated  from  your 
constitution.  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  offer  these 
observations  to  your  Majesty." 

The  old  man's  eyes  were  very  kind. 

"  It's  all  right,  sir,"  said  I.    "  Go  on." 

"  We  all  trust  that  you  may  live  through  a  long 
reign,  and  that  your  son  may  reign  after  you.  It 
is,  indeed,  the  only  strong  wish  that  I  have  left  in  a 
world  which  I  have  well-nigh  done  with.  But  the 
other  possibility  has  been  set  before  us  and  we  can 
not  ignore  it." 

From  that  moment  I  myself  never  ignored  it. 

"  It  was  suggested  that  Princess  Victoria  should 
renounce  her  rights  of  succession.  I  need  not  remind 
your  Majesty  that  the  result  would  be  to  make  your 
cousin  Prince  Ferdinand  heir-presumptive.  I  desire 
to  speak  with  all  respect  of  the  Prince,  but  his  suc- 
cession would  be  an  unmixed  calamity."  The  Prince 
took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

Ferdinand  was  very  liberal  in  his  theories ;  and 
equally  so,  in  a  rather  different  sense,  in  his  mode 
of  life. 

I  thought  for  a  moment. 


A   STUDENT   OF    LOVE   AFFAIRS.  71 

"  I  shouldn't  like  the  succession  to  go  out  of  our 
branch,"  said  I. 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,  sire,"  he  said,  bowing'.  "  It 
would  break  your  mother's  heart  and  mine." 

I  was  greatly  troubled.  What  of  my  ready  incon- 
siderate promise  to  Victoria?  And  apart  from  the 
promise  I  would  most  eagerly  have  helped  her  to  her 
way.  I  had  felt  severely  the  lack  of  confidence  and 
affection  that  had  recently  come  about  between  us ; 
I  was  hungry  for  her  love,  and  hoped  to  buy  it  of 
her  gratitude.  I  believe  old  Hammerfeldt's  keen  eyes 
saw  all  that  passed  in  my  thoughts.  The  Styrian 
teaching  had  left  its  mark  on  my  mind,  as  had  the 
Styrian  discipline  on  my  soul.  "  God  did  not  make 
you  king  for  your  own  pleasure,"  Krak  used  to  say 
with  that  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  Deity  which 
marks  those  who  train  the  young.  No,  nor  for  my 
sister's,  nor  even  that  I  might  conciliate  my  sister's 
love.  Nay,  again,  nor  even  that  I  might  make  my 
sister  happy.  For  none  of  these  ends  did  I  sit  where 
I  sat.  But  I  felt  very  forlorn  and  sad  as  I  looked  at 
the  old  Prince. 

"  Victoria  will  be  very  angry,"  said  I.  "  I  wanted 
to  please  her  so  much." 

"  The  Princess  has  her  duties,  and  will  recog- 
nise yours,"  he  answered. 

"  Of  course,  if  I  die  it'll  be  all  right.  But  if  I  live 
she'll  say  I  did  it  just  out  of  ill-nature." 

The  old  man  rose  from  his  chair,  laying  his  snuff- 
box on  the  table  by  him.  He  came  up  to  me  and 
held  out  both  his  hands ;  I  put  mine  into  them,  and 
looked  up  into  his  face.  It  was  moved  by  a  most  rare 
emotion.  I  had  never  seen  him  like  this  before. 

"  Sire,"  said  he  in  a  low  tone,  "  do  not  think 
that  nobody  loves  you;  for  from  that  mood  it  may 


72  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

come  that  a  man  will  love  nobody.  There  is  an  old 
man  that  loves  you,  as  he  loved  your  father  and  your 
grandfather ;  and  your  people  shall  love  you."  He 
bent  down  and  kissed  me  on  either  cheek.  Then  he 
released  my  hands  and  stood  before  me.  There  was 
a  long  silence.  Then  he  said : 

"  Have  I  your  Majesty's  authority  and  support  in 
acting  for  the  good  of  the  kingdom  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  said  I. 

But,  alas !  for  Victoria's  hopes,  ambitions,  and 
vanity  for  her  crown,  and  her  crowned  husband. 
Alas,  poor  sister!  And,  alas,  poor  brother,  hungry 
to  be  friends  again! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THINGS    NOT    TO    BE    NOTICED. 

I  HAVE  not  the  heart  to  set  down  what  passed 
between  my  sister  and  myself  when  I  broke  to  her 
the  news  that  I  must  be  against  her.  Impulsive  in 
all  her  moods,  and  ungoverned  in  her  emotions,  she 
displayed  much  bitterness  and  an  anger  that  her  dis- 
appointment may  excuse.  I  have  little  doubt  that 
I,  on  my  part,  was  formal,  priggish,  perhaps  absurd ; 
all  these  faults  she  charged  me  with.  You  can  not 
put  great  ideas  in  a  boy's  head  without  puffing  him 
up;  I  was  doing  at  cost  to  myself  what  I  was  con- 
vinced was  my  duty ;  it  is  only  too  likely  that  I  gave 
myself  some  airs  during  the  performance.  Might  I 
not  be  pardoned  if  I  talked  a  little  big  about  my 
position?  The  price  I  was  paying  for  it  was  big 
enough.  It  touched  me  most  nearly  when  she  ac- 
cused me  of  jealousy,  but  I  set  it  down  only  to  her 
present  rage.  I  was  tempted  to  soften  her  by  dwell- 
ing on  my  own  precarious  health,  but  I  am  glad  that 
an  instinct  for  fair  play  made  me  leave  that  weapon 
unused.  She  grew  calm  at  last,  and  rose  to  her  feet 
with  a  pale  face. 

"  I  have  tried  to  do  right,"  said  I. 

"  I  shall  not  forget  what  you  have  done,"  she  re- 
torted as  she  walked  out  of  the  room. 

6  73 


74  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

I  have  been  much  alone  in  my  life — alone  in 
spirit,  I  mean,  for  that  is  the  only  loneliness  that  has 
power  to  hurt  a  man — but  never  so  much  as  dur- 
ing the  year  that  elapsed  before  Victoria's  marriage 
was  celebrated.  Save  for  Hammerfeldt,  whose  en- 
gagements did  not  allow  him  to  be  much  in  my  com- 
pany, and  to  whom  it  was  possible  to  open  one's 
heart  only  rarely,  I  had  nobody  with  whom  I  was 
in  sympathy.  For  my  mother,  although  she  yielded 
more  readily  to  the  inevitable,  was  yet  in  secret  on 
Victoria's  side  on  the  matter  of  marriage.  Victoria 
had  been  for  meeting  the  foreign  representatives  by 
renouncing  her  succession ;  my  mother  would  not 
hear  of  that,  but  was  for  defying  the  protests.  Noth- 
ing, she  had  declared,  could  really  come  of  them. 
Hammerfeldt  overbore  her  with  his  knowledge  and 
experience,  leaving  her  defeated,  but  only  half  con- 
vinced, sullen,  and  disappointed.  She  was  careful 
not  to  take  sides  against  me  overtly,  but  neither  did 
she  seek  to  comfort  or  to  aid  me.  She  withdrew  into 
a  neutrality  that  favoured  Victoria  silently,  although 
it  refused  openly  to  espouse  her  cause.  The  two 
ladies  thus  came  closer  together  again,  leaving  me 
more  to  myself.  The  near  prospect  of  independence 
reconciled  Victoria  to  a  temporary  control ;  my  moth- 
er was  more  gentle  from  her  share  in  her  daughter's 
disappointment.  For  my  part  I  took  refuge  more 
and  more  in  books  and  my  sport. 

Amusement  is  the  one  great  consolation  that  life 
offers,  and  even  in  this  dreary  time  it  was  not  lack- 
ing. The  love-lorn  Baron  had  returned  to  Walden- 
weiter ;  he  wrote  to  Hammerfeldt  for  permission ; 
the  Prince  refused  it ;  the  Baron  rejoined  that  he 
was  about  to  be  married ;  I  can  imagine  the  grim 
smile  with  which  the  old  man  withdrew  his  objec- 


THINGS   NOT    TO   BE    NOTICED. 


75 


tion.  The  Baron  came  home  with  his  wife.  This 
event  nearly  broke  the  new  alliance  between  my 
mother  and  my  sister ;  it  was  so  very  difficult  for 
my  mother  not  to  triumph,  and  Victoria  detected  a 
taunt  even  in  silence.  However,  there  was  no  rup- 
ture, the  Baron  was  never  mentioned ;  but  I,  seek- 
ing distraction,  made  it  my  business  to  pursue  him 
as  often  as  he  ventured  into  his  boat.  I  overtook 
him  once  and  insisted  on  going  up  to  Waldenweiter 
and  being  introduced  to  the  pretty  young  Baroness. 
She  knew  nothing  about  the  affair,  and  was  rather 
hurt  at  not  being  invited  to  Artenberg.  The  Baron 
was  on  thorns  during  the  whole  interview — but  not 
so  much  because  he  must  be  looking  a  fool  in  my 
eyes,  as  because  he  did  not  desire  to  seem  light  of 
love  in  his  wife's.  Unhappily,  however,  about  this 
time  a  pamphlet  was  secretly  printed  and  circulated, 
giving  a  tolerably  accurate  account  of  the  whole  af- 
fair. The  wrath  in  "  exalted  quarters  "  may  be  im- 
agined. I  managed  to  procure  (through  Baptiste)  a 
copy  of  this  publication  and  read  it  with  much  en- 
tertainment. Victoria,  in  spite  of  her  anger,  bor- 
rowed it  from  me.  It  is  within  my  knowledge  that 
the  Baroness  received  a  copy  from  an  unknown 
friend,  and  that  the  Baron,  being  thus  driven  into 
a  corner,  admitted  that  the  Princess  had  at  one  time 
distinguished  him  by  some  attentions — and  could 
he  be  rude  ?  Now,  curiously  enough,  the  report  that 
got  about  on  our  bank  of  the  river  was,  that  there 
was  no  foundation  at  all  for  the  assertions  of  the 
pamphlet,  except  in  a  foolish  and  ill-mannered  perse- 
cution to  which  the  Princess  had,  during  a  short 
period,  been  subjected.  After  this  there  could  be 
no  question  of  any  invitation  passing  from  Arten- 
berg to  Waldenweiter.  The  subject  dropped ;  the 


76  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

printer  made  some  little  scandal  and  a  pocket  full  of 
money,  and  persons  who,  like  myself,  knew  the  facts 
and  could  appreciate  the  behaviour  of  the  lovers 
gained  considerable  amusement. 

My  second  source  of  diversion  was  found  in  my 
future  brother-in-law,  William  Adolphus,  of  Alt- 
Gronenstahl.  He  was,  in  himself,  a  thoroughly 
heavy  fellow,  although  admirably  good-natured  and, 
I  believe,  a  practical  and  competent  soldier.  He  was 
tall,  dark,  and  even  at  this  time  inclining  to  stout- 
ness ;  he  became  afterward  exceedingly  corpulent. 
He  did  not  at  first  promise  amusement,  but  a  rather 
malicious  humour  found  much  in  him,  owing  to  the 
circumstance  that  the  poor  fellow  was  acquainted 
with  the  negotiations  touching  the  marriage  first  sug- 
gested for  Victoria,  and  was  fully  aware  that  he  him- 
self was  in  his  lady's  eyes  only  a  pis-aller.  His  dig- 
nity might  have  refused  such  a  situation ;  but  in  the 
first  instance  he  had  been  hardly  more  of  a  free  agent 
than  Victoria  herself,  and  later  on,  as  though  he  were 
determined  to  deprive  himself  of  all  defence,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  fall  genuinely  in  love  with  my  capricious 
but  very  attractive  sister.  I  was  sorry  for  him,  but 
I  am  not  aware  that  sympathy  with  people  excludes 
amusement  at  them.  I  hope  not,  for  wide  sympa- 
thies are  a  very  desirable  thing.  William  Adolphus, 
looking  round  for  a  friend,  honoured  me  with  his 
confidence,  and  during  his  visits  to  Artenberg  used 
to  consult  me  almost  daily  as  to  how  he  might  best 
propitiate  his  deity  and  wean'  her  thoughts  from  that 
other  alliance  which  had  so  eclipsed  his  in  its  pro- 
spective brilliance. 

"  Girls  are  rather  difficult  to  manage,"  he  used  to 
say  to  me  ruefully.  "  You'll  know  more  about  them 
in  a  few  years,  Augustin." 


THINGS   NOT    TO   BE   NOTICED. 


77 


I  knew  much  more  about  them  than  he  did  al- 
ready. I  am  not  boasting ;  but  people  who  learn  only 
from  experience  do  not  allow  for  intuition. 

"  But  I  think  she's  beginning  to  get  fonder  of 
me,"  he  would  end,  with  an  uphill  cheerfulness. 

She  was  not  beginning  to  get  the  least  fonder  of 
him ;  she  was  beginning  to  be  interested  and  excited 
in  the  stir  of  the  marriage.  There  were  so  many 
things  to  do  and  talk  about,  and  so  much  desirable 
prominence  and  publicity  attaching  to  the  affair,  that 
she  had  less  time  for  nursing  her  dislike.  The  shock 
of  him  was  passing  over;  he  was  falling  into  focus 
with  the  rest  of  it ;  but  she  was  not  becoming  in  the 
least  fonder  of  him.  I  knew  all  this  without  the  few 
words ;  with  them  he  knew  none  of  it.  It  seems  to 
be  a  mere  accident  who  chances  to  be  previous  to 
truth,  who  impervious. 

In  loneliness  for  me,  in  perturbation  for  poor 
William  Adolphus,  in  I  know  not  what  for  Victoria 
the  time  passed  on.  There  is  but  one  incident  that 
stands  out,  flaming  against  the  gray  of  that  monot- 
ony. The  full  meaning  of  it  I  did  not  understand 
then,  but  now  I  know  it  better. 

I  was  sitting  alone  in  my  dressing-room.  I  had 
sent  Baptiste  to  bed,  and  was  reading  a  book  with 
interest.  Suddenly  the  door  was  opened  violently. 
Before  I  could  even  rise  to  my  feet,  Victoria — the 
door  slammed  behind  her — had  thrown  herself  on 
her  knees  before  me.  She  was  in  her  nightdress, 
barefooted,  her  hair  loose  and  tumbled  on  her  shoul- 
ders ;  it  seemed  as  though  she  had  sprung  up  from 
her  bed  and  run  to  me.  She  caught  my  arms  in  her 
hands,  and  laid  her  face  on  my  knees ;  she  said  noth- 
ing, but  sobbed  violently  with  a  terrible  gasping 
rapidity. 


78  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

"  My  God,  what's  the  matter?"  said  I. 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  answer ;  then  her 
voice  came,  interrupted  and  half-choked  by  constant 
sobs. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  I  can't  do  it.  For  God's  sake,  don't 
make  me  do  it. 

"Do  what?"  I  asked. 

Her  sobs  alone  answered  me,  and  their  answer 
was  enough.  I  sat  there  helpless  and  still,  the  nerv- 
ous tight  clutching  of  her  hands  pinning  my  arms 
to  my  side. 

"  You're  the  king,  you're  the  king,"  she  moaned. 

Yes,  I  was  the  king ;  even  then  I  smiled. 

"  You  don't  know,"  she  went  on,  and  now  she 
raised  her  face  streaming  with  tears.  "  You  don't 
know — how  can  you  know  what  it  is?  Help  me, 
help  me,  Augustin." 

The  thing  had  come  on  me  with  utter  sudden- 
ness, the  tranquillity  of  my  quiet  room  had  been 
rudely  rent  by  the  invasion.  I  was,  in  an  instant, 
face  to  face  with  a  strange  dim  tragedy,  the  like  of 
which  I  had  never  known,  the  stress  of  which  I  could 
never  fully  know.  But  all  the  tenderness  that  I  had 
for  her,  my  love  for  her  beauty,  and  the  yearning 
for  comradeship  that  she  herself  had  choked  rose 
in  me ;  I  bent  my  head  till  my  lips  rested  on  her  hair, 
crying,  "  Don't,  darling,  don't." 

She  sprang  up,  throwing  her  arm  about  my  neck, 
and  looking  round  the  room  as  though  there  were 
something  that  she  feared ;  then  she  sat  on  my 
knee  and  nestled  close  to  me.  She  had  ceased  to 
sob  now,  but  it  was  worse  to  me  to  see  her  face 
strained  in  silent  agony  and  her  eyes  wept  dry  of 
tears. 

"  Let  me  stay  here,  do  let  me  stay  here  a  little;" 


THINGS   NOT    TO   BE   NOTICED. 


79 


she  said  as  I  passed  my  arm  round  her  and  her  head 
fell  on  my  shoulder.  "  Don't  send  me  away  yet, 
Augustin,"  she  whispered,  "  I  don't  want  to  be 
alone." 

"  Stay  here,  dearest,  nobody  shall  hurt  you,"  said 
I,  as  I  kissed  her.  My  heart  broke  for  her  trouble, 
but  it  was  sweet  to  me  to  think  that  she  had  fled 
from  it  to  my  arms.  After  all,  the  old  bond  held  be- 
tween us ;  the  tug  of  trouble  revealed  it.  She  lay 
a  while  quite  still  with  closed  eyes ;  then  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  looked  up  at  me. 

"  Must  I  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "  If  you  will  not,  you  shall 
not." 

Her  arm  coiled  closer  round  my  neck  and  she 
closed  her  eyes  again,  sighing  and  moving  restlessly. 
Presently  she  lay  very  quiet,  her  exhaustion  seem- 
ing like  sleep.  How  long  had  she  tormented  herself 
before  she  came  to  me? 

My  brain  was  busy,  but  my  heart  outran  it.  Now, 
now  if  ever,  I  would  assert  myself,  my  power,  my 
position.  She  should  not  call  to  me  in  vain.  What 
I  would  do,  I  did  not  know ;  but  the  thing  she  dreaded 
should  not  be.  But  although  I  was  in  this  fever,  I 
did  not  stir ;  she  was  resting  in  peace ;  let  her  rest 
as  long  as  she  would.  For  more  than  an  hour  she 
lay  there  in  my  arms ;  I  grew  stiff  and  very  weary, 
but  I  did  not  move.  At  last  I  believe  that  in  very 
truth  she  slept. 

The  clock  in  the  tower  struck  midnight,  and  the 
quarter,  and  the  half-hour.  I  had  rehearsed  what  I 
should  say  to  my  mother  and  what  to  Hammerfeldt. 
I  had  dreamed  how  this  night  should  knit  her  and 
me  so  closely  that  we  could  never  again  drift  apart, 
that  now  we  knew  one  another  and  for  each  of  us 


8o  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

what  was  superficial  in  the  other  existed  no  more, 
but  was  swept  away  by  the  flood  of  full  sympathy. 
She  and  I  against  the  world  if  need  be ! 

A  shiver  ran  through  her;  she  opened  her  eyes 
wide  and  wider,  looking  round  the  room  no  longer 
in  fear,  but  in  a  sort  of  wonder.  Her  gaze  rested 
an  instant  on  my  face,  she  drew  her  arm  from  round 
my  neck  and  rose  to  her  feet,  pushing  away  my  arm. 
There  she  stood  for  a  moment  with  a  strange,  fret- 
ful, ashamed  look  on  her  face.  She  tossed  her  head, 
flinging  her  hair  back  behind  her  shoulders.  I  had 
taken  her  hand  and  still  held  it ;  now  she  drew  it  also 
away. 

"  What  must  you  think  of  me?  "  she  said.  "  Good 
gracious,  I'm  in  my  nightgown." 

She  walked  across  to  the  looking-glass  and  stood 
opposite  to  it. 

"  What  a  fright  I  look !  "  she  said.  "  How  long 
have  I  been  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  more  than  an  hour." 

"  It  was  horrid  in  bed  to-night,"  she  said  in  a 
half-embarrassed  yet  half-absent  way.  "  I  got  think- 
ing about — about  all  sorts  of  things,  and  I  was 
frightened." 

The  change  in  her  mood  sealed  my  lips. 

"  I  hope  mother  hasn't  noticed  that  my  room's 
empty.  No,  of  course  not ;  she  must  be  in  bed  long 
ago.  Will  you  take  me  back  to  my  room,  Augus- 
tin?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

She  came  up  to  me,  looked  at  me  for  a  moment, 
then  bent  down  to  me  as  I  sat  in  my  chair  and  kissed 
my  forehead. 

"  You're  a  dear  boy,"  she  said.  "  Was  I  quite 
mad?" 


THINGS   NOT   TO   BE   NOTICED.  8 1 

"  I  meant  what  I  said,"  I  declared,  as  I  stood  up. 
"  I  mean  it  still." 

"  Ah,"  said  she,  flinging  her  hands  out,  "  poor 
Augustin,  you  mean  it  still !  Take  me  along  the 
corridor,  dear,  I'm  afraid  to  go  alone." 

Sometimes  I  blame  myself  that  I  submitted  to  the 
second  mood  as  completely  as  I  had  responded  to 
the  first;  but  I  was  staggered  by  the  change,  and 
the  old  sense  of  distance  scattered  for  an  hour  was 
enveloping  me  again. 

One  protest  I  made. 

"  Are  we  to  do  nothing,  then  ?  "  I  asked  in  a  low 
whisper. 

"  We're  to  go  to  our  beds  like  good  children," 
said  she  with  a  mournful  little  smile.  "  Come,  take 
me  to  mine." 

"  I  must  see  you  in  the  morning." 

"  In  the  morning?  Well,  we'll  see.  Come, 
come." 

Now  she  was  urgent,  and  I  did  as  she  bade  me. 
But  first  she  made  me  bring  her  a  pair  of  my  slip- 
pers ;  her  feet  were  very  cold,  she  said,  and  they  felt 
like  ice  against  my  hand  as  I  touched  them  in  putting 
on  the  slippers  for  her.  She  passed  her  hand  through 
my  arm  and  we  went  together.  The  door  of  her 
room  stood  wide  open ;  we  went  in ;  I  saw  the  bed 
in  confusion. 

"  Fancy  if  any  one  had  come  by  and  seen !  "  she 
whispered.  "  Now,  good-night,  dear." 

I  opened  my  lips  to  speak  to  her  again. 

"  No,  no ;  go,  please  go.  Good-night,  dear."  I 
left  her  standing  in  the  middle  of  her  room.  Outside 
the  door  I  waited  many  minutes ;  I  heard  her  mov- 
ing about  and  getting  into  bed ;  then  all  was  quiet ; 
I  returned  to  my  own  room. 


82  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

I  was  up  early  the  next  morning,  for  I  had  been 
able  to  sleep  but  little.  I  wanted  above  all  things 
to  see  Victoria  again.  But  even  while  I  was  dressing 
Baptiste  brought  me  a  note.  I  opened  it  hurriedly, 
for  it  was  from  her.  I  read : 

"  Forget  all  about  last  night ;  I  was  tired  and  ill. 
I  rely  on  your  honour  to  say  nothing  to  anybody. 
I  am  all  right  this  morning." 

She  was  entitled  to  ask  the  pledge  of  my  honour, 
if  she  chose.  I  tore  the  note  in  fragments  and  burned 
them. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
I  went  out  into  the  garden.  There  was  a  group  on 
the  terrace — my  mother,  Victoria,  and  William  Adol- 
phus.  They  were  laughing  and  talking  and  seemed 
very  merry.  As  a  rule  I  should  have  waved  a  "  good 
morning  "  and  passed  on  for  my  solitary  walk.  To- 
day I  went  up  to  them.  My  mother  appeared  to  be 
in  an  excellent  temper,  the  Prince  looked  quite  easy 
and  happy.  Victoria  was  a  little  pale  but  very  viva- 
cious. She  darted  a  quick  look  at  me,  and  cried  out 
the  moment  I  had  kissed  my  mother : 

"  We're  settling  the  bridesmaids  !  You're  just  in 
time  to  help,  Augustin." 

We  "  settled  "  the  bridesmaids.  I  hardly  knew 
whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry  during  this  important 
operation.  Victoria  was  very  kind  to  her  fiance,  re- 
ceiving his  suggestions  with  positive  graciousness : 
he  became  radiant  under  this  treatment.  When  our 
task  was  done,  Victoria  passed  her  arm  through  his, 
declaring  that  she  wanted  a  stroll  in  the  woods ;  as 
they  went  by  me  she  laid  her  hand  lightly  and  affec- 
tionately on  my  arm,  looking  me  full  in  the  face  the 
while.  I  understood ;  for  good  or  evil  my  lips  were 
sealed. 


THINGS   NOT    TO   BE    NOTICED.  83 

My  mother  looked  after  the  betrothed  couple  as 
they  walked  away ;  I  looked  at  my  mother's  fine 
high-bred  resolute  face. 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  said  she  at  last,  "  to  see  Victoria 
so  happy.  I  was  afraid  at  one  time  that  she'd  never 
take  to  it.  Of  course  we  had  other  hopes." 

The  last  words  were  a  hit  at  me.  I  ignored  them  ; 
that  battle  had  been  fought,  the  victory  won,  and  paid 
for  by  me  in  handsome  fashion. 

"  Has  she  taken  to  it?"  I  asked  as  carelessly  as 
I  could.  But  my  mother's  eyes  turned  keenly  on  me. 

"  Have  you  any  reason  for  thinking  she  hasn't  ?  " 
came  in  quick  question. 

"  No,"  I  answered. 

The  sun  was  shining  and  Princess  Heinrich 
opened  her  parasol  very  leisurely.  She  rose  to  her 
feet  and  stood  there  for  a  moment.  Then  in  a  smooth^ 
even,  and  what  I  may  call  reasonable  voice,  she  re- 
marked : 

"  My  dear  Augustin,  from  time  to  time  all  girls 
have  fancies.  We  mothers  know  that  it  doesn't  do 
to  pay  any  attention  to  them.  They  soon  go  if  they're 
let  alone.  We  shall  meet  at  lunch,  I  hope?  " 

I  bowed  respectfully,  but  perhaps  I  looked  a  lit- 
tle doubtful. 

"  It  really  doesn't  do  to  take  any  notice  of  them," 
said  my  mother  over  her  shoulder. 

So  we  took  no  notice  of  them ;  my  sister's  mid- 
night flight  to  my  room  and  to  my  arms  was  be- 
tween her  and  me,  and  for  all  the  world  as  though 
it  has  never  been,  save  that  it  left  behind  it  a  little 
legacy  of  renewed  kindliness  and  trust.  For  that 
much  I  was  thankful ;  but  I  could  not  forget  the  rest. 

A  month  later  she  was  married  to  William  Adol- 
phus  at  Forstadt. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

DESTINY    IN   A   PINAFORE. 

THE  foreign  tour  I  undertook  in  my  eighteenth 
year  has  been  sufficiently,  or  even  more  than  suf- 
ficiently, described  by  the  accomplished  and  courtly 
pen  of  Vohrenlorf's  secretary.  I  travelled  as  the 
Count  of  Artenberg  under  my  Governor's  guidance, 
and  saw  in  some  ways  more,  in  some  respects  less, 
than  most  young  men  on  their  travels  are  likely  to 
see.  Old  Hammerfeldt  recommended  for  my  read- 
ing the  English  letters  of  Lord  Chesterfield  to  his 
son,  and  I  studied  them  with  some  profit,  much 
amusement,  and  an  occasional  burst  of  impatience; 
I  believe  that  in  the  Prince's  opinion  I,  like  Mr. 
Stanhope,  had  hitherto  attached  too  little  impor- 
tance to,  and  not  attained  enough  proficiency  in, 
"  the  graces  " ;  concealment  was  the  life's  breath  of 
his  statescraft,  and  "  the  graces  "  help  a  man  to  hide 
everything — ideals,  emotions,  passions,  his  very  soul. 
It  must  have  been  an  immense  satisfaction  to  the 
Prince,  on  leaving  the  world  at  a  ripe  age,  to  feel 
that  nobody  had  ever  been  sure  that  they  under- 
stood him ;  except,  of  course,  the  fools  who  think 
that  they  understood  everybody. 

As  far  as  my  private  life  is  concerned,  one  inci- 
dent only  on  this  expedition  is  of  moment.  We  paid 
a  visit  to  my  father's  cousins,  the  Bartensteins,  who 
84 


DESTINY   IN   A   PINAFORE.  85 

possessed  a  singularly  charming  place  in  Tirol.  The 
Duke  was  moderately  rich,  very  able,  and  very  in- 
dolent. He  was  a  connoisseur  in  music  and  the  arts. 
His  wife,  my  Cousin  Elizabeth,  was  a  very  good- 
natured  woman  of  seven  or  eight  and  thirty,  noted  for 
her  dairy  and  fond  of  out-of-door  pursuits ;  her  de- 
votion to  these  last  had  resulted  in  her  complexion 
being  rather  reddened  and  weather-beaten.  We  were 
to  stay  a  week,  an  unusually  long  halt ;  and  even  be- 
fore we  arrived  I  detected  a  simple  slyness  in  my 
good  Vohrenlorf's  demeanour.  When  a  secret  was 
afoot,  Vohrenlorf's  first  apparent  effort  was  to  draw 
everybody's  attention  to  the  fact  of  its  existence. 
Out  of  perversity  I  asked  no  questions,  and  left  him 
to  seethe  in  his  over-boiling  mystery.  I  knew  that 
I  should  be  enlightened  soon  enough.  I  was  quite 
right ;  before  I  had  been  a  day  with  my  relatives  it 
became  obvious  that  Elsa  was  the  mystery.  I  sup- 
pose that  it  is  not  altogether  a  common  thing  for  a 
youth  of  eighteen,  feeling  himself  a  man,  trying  to 
think  himself  one,  just  become  fully  conscious  of 
the  power  and  attraction  of  the  women  he  meets,  to 
be  shown  a  child  of  twelve,  and  given  to  understand 
that  in  six  years'  time  she  will  be  ready  to  become 
his  wife.  The  position,  even  if  not  as  uncommon  as 
I  suppose,  is  curious  enough  to  justify  a  few  words 
of  description. 

I  saw  Elsa  first  as  she  was  rolling  down  a  hill, 
with  a  scandalized  governess  in  full  chase.  Elsa 
rolled  quickly,  marking  her  progress  by  triumphant 
cries.  She  "  brought  up  "  at  the  foot  of  the  slope 
in  an  excessively  crumpled  state ;  her  short  skirts 
were  being  smoothed  down  when  her  mother  and  I 
arrived.  She  was  a  pretty,  fair,  blue-eyed  child,  with 
a  natural  merriment  about  her  attractive  enough. 


86  Tlpj   KING'S   MIRROR. 

She  was  well  made,  having  escaped  the  square  solid- 
ity of  figure  that  characterized  Cousin  Elizabeth. 
Her  features  were  still  in  an  undeveloped  condition, 
and  her  hair,  brushed  smooth  and  plastered  down 
on  her  forehead,  was  tormented  into  ringlets  behind. 
She  looked  at  my  lanky  form  with  some  apprehen- 
sion. 

"  Was  it  a  good  roll,  Elsa  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Splendid  !  "  she  answered. 

"  You  didn't  know  Cousin  Augustin  was  looking 
on,  did  you  ?  "  asked  her  mother. 

"  No,  I  didn't."  But  it  was  plain  that  she  did  not 
care  either. 

I  felt  that  Cousin  Elizabeth's  honest  eyes  were 
searching  my  face. 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  won't  you,  Elsa?  "  I  asked. 

Elsa  turned  her  chubby  cheek  up  to  me  in  a  per- 
fection of  indifference.  In  fact,  both  Elsa  and  I  were 
performing  family  duties.  Thus  we  kissed  for  the 
first  time. 

"  Now  go  and  let  nurse  put  on  a  clean  frock  for 
you,"  said  Cousin  Elizabeth.  "  You're  to  come 
downstairs  to-day,  and  you're  not  fit  to  be  seen. 
Don't  roll  any  more  when  you've  changed  your 
frock." 

Elsa  smiled,  shook  her  head,  and  ran  off.  I  gath- 
ered the  impression  that  even  in  the  clean  frock  she 
would  roll  again  if  she  chanced  to  be  disposed  to  that 
exercise.  The  air  of  Bartenstein  was  not  the  air  of 
Artenberg.  A  milder  climate  reigned.  There  was 
no  Styrian  discipline  for  Elsa.  I  believe  that  in  all 
her  life  she  did  at  her  parents'  instance  only  one  thing 
that  she  seriously  disliked.  Cousin  Elizabeth  and  I 
walked  on. 

"  She's  a  baby  still,"  said  Cousin  Elizabeth  pres- 


DESTINY    IN   A    PINA^RE.  8/ 

ently,  "  but  I  assure  you  that  she  has  begun  to  de- 
velop." 

"  There's  no  hurry,  is  there  ?  " 

"  No.  You  know,  I  think  you're  too  old  for  your 
age,  Augustin.  I  suppose  it  was  inevitable." 

I  felt  much  younger  in  many  ways  than  I  had  at 
fifteen ;  the  gates  of  the  world  were  opening,  and 
showing  me  prospects  unknown  to  the  lonely  boy  at 
Artenberg. 

"  And  she  has  the  sweetest  disposition.  So  lov- 
ing !  "  said  Cousin  Elizabeth. 

I  did  not  find  anything  appropriate  to  answer. 
The  next  day  found  me  fully,  although  delicately, 
apprised  of  the  situation.  It  seemed  to  me  a  strange 
one.  The  Duke  was  guarded  in  his  hints,  and  pro- 
fuse of  declarations  that  it  was  too  soon  to  think 
of  anything.  Good  Cousin  Elizabeth  strove  to  con- 
ceal her  eagerness  and  repress  the  haste  born  of  it 
by  similar  but  more  clumsy  speeches.  I  spoke  openly 
on  the  subject  to  Vohrenlorf. 

"  Ah,  well,  even  if  it  should  be  so,  you  have  six 
years,"  he  reminded  me  in  good-natured  consolation. 
"  And  she  will  grow  up." 

"  She  won't  roll  down  hills  always,  of  course,"  I 
answered  rather  peevishly. 

In  truth  the  thing  would  not  assume  an  appear- 
ance of  reality  for  me ;  it  was  too  utterly  opposed 
to  the  current  of  my  thoughts  and  dreams.  A  boy 
of  my  age  will  readily  contemplate  marriage  with  a 
woman  ten  years  his  senior ;  in  regard  to  a  child  six 
years  younger  than  himself  the  idea  seems  absurd. 
Yet  I  did  not  put  it  from  me ;  I  had  been  well  tutored 
in  the  strength  of  family  arrangements,  and  the  force 
of  destiny  had  been  brought  home  to  me  on  several 
occasions.  I  had  no  doubt  at  all  that  my  visit  to 


88  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

Bartenstein  was  part  of  a  deliberate  plan.  The  per- 
son who  contrived  my  meeting  with  Elsa  had  a 
shrewd  knowledge  of  my  character;  he  knew  that 
ideas  long  present  in  my  mind  became  as  it  were 
domiciled  there,  and  were  hard  to  expel.  I  discov- 
ered afterward  without  surprise  that  the  stay  with  my 
relatives  was  added  to  my  tour  at  Prince  von  Ham- 
merfeldt's  suggestion. 

Many  men,  or  youths  bordering  on  manhood, 
have  seen  their  future  brides  in  short  frocks  and  un- 
mitigated childhood,  but  they  have  not  been  aware 
of  what  was  before  them.  I  was  at  once  amused  and 
distressed ;  my  humour  was  touched,  but  life's  avenue 
seemed  shortened.  Even  if  it  were  not  Elsa  it  would 
be  some  other  little  girl,  now  playing  with  her  toys 
and  rolling  down  banks.  Imagination  was  not  elastic 
enough  to  leap  over  the  years  and  behold  the  child 
transformed.  I  stuck  in  the  present,  and  was  whim- 
sically apprehensive  of  a  child  seen  through  a  magni- 
fying glass,  larger,  but  unchanged  in  form,  air,  and 
raiment.  Was  this  my  fate?  And  for  it  I  must  wait 
till  the  perfected  beauties  who  had  smiled  on  me 
passed  on  to  other  men,  and  with  them  grew  old — 
aye,  as  it  seemed,  quite  old.  I  felt  myself  ludicrously 
reduced  to  Elsa's  status ;  a  long  boy,  who  had  out- 
grown his  clothes,  and  yet  was  .no  nearer  to  a  man. 

My  trouble  was,  perhaps  unreasonably,  aggra- 
vated by  the  fact  that  Elsa  did  not  take  to  me.  I 
did  my  best  to  be  pleasant ;  I  made  her  several  gifts. 
She  accepted  my  offerings,  but  was  not  bought  by 
them;  myself  she  considered  dull.  I  had  not  the 
flow  of  animal  spirits  that  appeals  so  strongly  to 
children.  I  played  with  her,  but  her  young  keen- 
ness detected  the  cloven  hoof  of  duty.  She  told  me 
I  need  not  play  unless  I  liked.  Cousin  Elizabeth 


DESTINY    IN   A   PINAFORE.  89 

apologized  for  me;  Elsa  was  gentle,  but  did  not 
change  her  opinion.  The  passage  of  years,  I  reflect- 
ed, would  increase  in  me  all  that  the  child  found  least 
to  her  taste.  I  was,  as  I  have  said,  unable  to  picture 
her  with  tastes  changed.  But  a  failure  of  imagina- 
tion may  occasionally  issue  in  paradoxical  Tightness, 
for  the  imagination  relies  on  the  common  run  of 
events  which  the  peculiar  case  may  chance  to  con- 
tradict. As  a  fact,  I  do  not  think  that  Elsa  ever  did 
change  greatly.  I  began  to  be  sorry  for  her  as  well 
as  for  myself.  Considered  as  an  outlook  in  life,  as 
the  governing  factor  in  a  human  being's  existence, 
I  did  not  seem  to  myself  brilliant  or  even  satisfac- 
tory. I  had  at  this  time  remarkable  forecasts  of 
feelings  that  were  in  later  years  to  be  my  almost  daily 
companions. 

"And  what  shall  your  husband  be  like,  Elsa?" 
asked  the  Duke,  as  his  little  daughter  sat  on  his  knee 
and  he  played  with  her  ringlets. 

I  was  sitting  by,  and  the  Duke's  eyes  twinkled 
discreetly.  The  child  looked  across  to  me  and 
studied  my  appearance  for  some  few  moments.  Then 
she  gave  us  a  simple  but  completely  lucid  descrip- 
tion of  a  gentleman  differing  from  myself  in  all  out- 
ward characteristics,  and  in  all  such  inward  traits  as 
Elsa's  experience  and  vocabulary  enabled  her  to 
touch  upon.  I  learned  later  that  she  took  hints  from 
a  tall  grenadier  who  sometimes  stood  sentry  at  the 
castle.  At  the  moment  it  seemed  as  though  her  ideal 
were  well  enough  delineated  by  the  picture  of  my 
opposite.  The  Duke  laughed,  and  I  laughed  also  ; 
Elsa  was  very  grave  and  business-like  in  defining 
her  requirements.  Her  inclinations  have  never  been 
obscure  to  her.  Even  then  she  knew  perfectly  well 
what  she  wanted,  and  I  was  not  that. 
7 


90  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

By  the  indiscretion  of  somebody  (the  Duke  said 
his  wife,  his  wife  said  the  governess,  the  governess 
said  the  nurse)  on  the  day  before  I  went,  Elsa  got  a 
hint  of  her  suggested  future.  Indeed  it  was  more 
than  a  hint ;  it  was  enough  to  entangle  her  in  excite- 
ment, interest,  and,  I  must  add,  dismay.  Children 
play  with  the  words  "  wife  "  and  "  husband  "  in  a 
happy  ignorance ;  their  fairy  tales  give  and  restrict 
their  knowledge.  Cousin  Elizabeth  came  to  me  in 
something  of  a  stir ;  she  was  afraid  that  I  should  be 
annoyed,  should  suspect,  perhaps,  a  forcing  of  my 
hand,  or  some  such  manoeuvre.  But  I  was  not  an- 
noyed ;  I  was  interested  to  learn  what  effect  the  pros- 
pect had  upon  my  little  cousin.  I  was  so  different 
from  the  Grenadier,  so  irreconcilable  with  Elsa's 
fancy  portrait. 

"  I'm  very  terribly  vexed !  "  cried  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth. "  When  it's  all  so — all  no  more  than  an  idea !  " 

"  She's  so  young  she'll  forget  all  about  it,"  said 
I  soothingly. 

"  You're  not  angry?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  was  only  afflicted  with  a  sense  of  ab- 
surdity." 

Chance  threw  me  in  Elsa's  way  that  afternoon. 
She  was  with  her  nurse  in  the  gardens.  She  ran 
up  to  me  at  once,  but  stopped  about  a  yard  from 
the  seat  on  which  I  was  sitting.  I  became  the  victim 
of  a  grave,  searching,  and  long  inspection.  There 
was  a  roundness  of  surprise  in  her  baby  blue  eyes. 
Embarrassed  and  amused  (I  am  inclined  sometimes 
to  think  that  more  than  half  my  life  has  been  a  mix- 
ture of  these  not  implacable  enemies),  I  took  the  bull 
by  the  horns. 

"  I'm  thin,  and  sallow,  and  hook-nosed,  and  I 
can't  sing,  and  I  don't  laugh  in  a  jolly  way,  and  I 


DESTINY    IN   A   PINAFORE. 


91 


can't  fly  kites,"  said  I,  having  the  description  of  her 
ideal  in  my  mind.  "  You  wouldn't  like  me  to  be  your 
husband,  would  you  ?  " 

Elsa,  unlike  myself,  was  neither  embarrassed  nor 
amused.  The  mild  and  interested  gravity  of  her  face 
persisted  unchanged. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  meditatively. 

With  most  of  the  faults  that  can  beset  one  of  my 
station,  I  do  not  plead  guilty  to  any  excessive  de- 
gree of  vainglory.  I  was  flattered  that  the  child 
hesitated. 

"  Then  you  like  me  rather?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes — rather."  She  paused,  and  then  added :  "  If 
I  married  you  I  should  be  queen,  shouldn't  I,  Cousin 
Augustin?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  assured  her. 

"  I  should  think  that's  rather  nice,  isn't  it?  " 

"  It  isn't  any  particular  fun  being  king,"  said  I 
in  a  burst  of  confidence. 

"  Isn't  it?  "  she  asked,  her  eyes  growing  rounder. 
"  Still,  I  think  I  should  like  it."  Her  tone  was  quite 
confident ;  even  at  that  age,  as  I  have  observed,  she 
knew  very  well  what  she  liked.  For  my  part  I  re- 
membered so  vividly  my  own  early  dreams  and  later 
awakenings  that  I  would  not  cut  short  her  guileless 
visions  ;  moreover,  to  generalize  from  one's  self  is  the 
most  fatal  foolishness,  even  while  it  is  the  most  in- 
evitable. 

During  the  remaining  hours  of  my  visit  Elsa 
treated  me,  I  must  not  say  with  more  affection,  but 
certainly  with  more  attention.  She  was  interested  in 
me;  I  had  become  to  her  a  source  of  possibilities, 
dim  to  vision  but  gorgeous  to  imagination.  I  knew 
so  well  the  images  that  floated  before  a  childish  mind, 
able  to  gape  at  them,  only  half  able  to  grasp  them. 


Q2  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

I  had  been  through  this  stage.  It  is  odd  to  reflect 
that  I  was  in  an  unlike  but  almost  equally  great  de- 
lusion myself.  I  had  ceased  to  expect  immoderate 
enjoyment  from  my  position,  but  I  had  conceived 
an  exaggerated  idea  of  its  power  and  influence  on  the 
world  and  mankind.  Of  this  mistake  I  was  then 
unconscious ;  I  smiled  to  think  that  Elsa  could  play 
at  being  a  queen,  the  doll,  the  bolster,  the  dog,  or 
whatever  else  might  chance  to  come  handy  acting  the 
regal  role  in  my  place.  I  do  not  now  altogether  quar- 
rel with  my  substitutes. 

The  hour  of  departure  came.  I  have  a  vivid  recol- 
lection of  Cousin  Elizabeth's  overwhelming  tact ;  she 
was  so  anxious  that  I  should  not  exaggerate  the 
meaning  or  importance  of  the  suggestion  which  had 
been  made,  that  she  succeeded  in  filling  my  mind 
with  it,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  The  Duke, 
having  tried  in  vain  to  stop  her,  fell  into  silence, 
cigarettes,  and  drolly  resigned  glances.  But  he 
caught  me  alone  for  a  few  moments,  and  gave  me 
his  word  of  advice. 

"  Think  no  more  about  this  nonsense  for  six 
years,"  said  he.  "  The  women  will  match-make,  you 
know." 

I  promised,  with  a  laugh,  not  to  anticipate  trou- 
bles. He  smiled  at  my  phrase,  but  did  not  dispute 
its  justice.  I  think  he  shared  the  sort  of  regret  which 
I  felt,  that  such  things  should  be  so  much  as  talked 
about  in  connection  with  Elsa.  A  man  keeps  that 
feeling  about  his  daughter  long  after  her  mother  has 
marked  a  husband  and  chosen  a  priest. 

My  visit  to  my  cousins  was  the  last  stage  of  my 
journey.  From  their  house  Vohrenlorf  and  I  trav- 
elled through  to  Forstadt.  I  was  received  at  the  rail- 
way station  by  a  large  and  distinguished  company. 


DESTINY    IN   A   PINAFORE. 


93 


My  mother  was  at  Artenberg,  where  I  was  to  join 
her  that  evening,  but  Hammerfeldt  awaited  me,  and 
some  of  the  gentlemen  attached  to  the  Court.  I  was 
too  much  given  to  introspection  and  self-appraise- 
ment not  to  be  aware  that  my  experiences  had  given 
me  a  lift  toward  manhood;  my  shyness  was  smoth- 
ered, though  not  killed,  by  a  kind  of  mechanical  ease 
born  of  practice.  After  greeting  Hammerfeldt  I  re- 
ceived the  welcome  of  the  company  with  a  com- 
posed courtesy  of. which  the  Prince's  approval  was 
very  manifest.  Ceremonial  occasions  such  as  these 
are  worthy  of  record  and  meditation  only  when  they 
surround,  and,  as  it  were,  frame  some  incident  really 
material.  Such  an  incident  occurred  now.  My  inner 
mind  was  still  full  of  my  sojourn  with  the  Barten- 
steins,  of  the  pathetic,  whimsical,  hypothetical  con- 
nection between  little  Elsa  and  myself,  and  of  the 
chains  that  seemed  to  bind  my  life  in  bonds  not  of 
my  making.  These  reflections  went  on  in  an  under- 
current while  I  was  bowing,  saluting,  grasping  hands, 
listening  and  responding  to  appropriate  observations. 
Suddenly  I  found  the  Count  von  Sempach  before  me. 
His  name  brought  back  my  mind  in  an  instant  from 
its  wanderings.  The  Countess  was  recalled  very  viv- 
idly to  my  recollection  ;  I  asked  after  her ;  Sempach, 
much  gratified,  pointed  to  a  row  of  ladies  who  (the 
occasion  being  official)  stood  somewhat  in  the  back- 
ground. There  she  was,  now  in  the  maturity  of  her 
remarkable  beauty,  seeming  to  me  the  embodiment 
of  perfect  accomplishment.  I  saluted  her  with 
marked  graciousness ;  fifty  heads  turned  instantly 
from  me  toward  her.  She  blushed  very  slightly  and 
curtseyed  very  low.  Sempach  murmured  gratifica- 
tion ;  Hammerfeldt  smiled.  I  was  vaguely  conscious 
of  a  subdued  sensation  running  all  through  the  com- 


94  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

pany,  but  my  mind  was  occupied  with  the  contrast 
between  this  finished  woman  and  the  little  girl  I  had 
left  behind.  From  feeling  old,  too  old,  sad,  and 
knowing  for  poor  little  Elsa,  I  was  suddenly  trans- 
ported into  an  oppressive  consciousness  of  youth  and 
rawness.  Involuntarily  I  drew  myself  up  to  my  full 
height  and  assumed  the  best  air  of  dignity  that  was 
at  my  command.  So  posed,  I  crossed  the  station  to 
my  carriage  between  Hammerfeldt  and  Vohren- 
lorf. 

"  Your  time  has  not  been  wasted,"  old  Ham- 
merfeldt whispered  to  me.  "  You  are  ready  now 
to  take  up  what  I  am  more  than  ready  to  lay 
down." 

I  started  slightly ;  I  had  for  the  moment  forgot- 
ten that  the  Council  of  Regency  was  now  discharged 
of  its  office,  and  that  I  was  to  assume  the  full  burden 
of  my  responsibilities.  I  had  looked  forward  to  this 
time  with  eagerness  and  ambition.  But  a  man's  emo- 
tions at  a  given  moment  are  very  seldom  what  he 
has  expected  them  to  be.  Some  foreign  thought  in- 
trudes and  predominates ;  something  accidental  sup- 
plants what  has  seemed  so  appropriate  and  certain. 
While  I  travelled  down  to  Artenberg  that  evening, 
with  Vohrenlorf  opposite  to  me  (Vohrenlorf  who  him- 
self was  about  to  lay  down  his  functions),  the  as- 
sumption of  full  power  was  not  what  occupied  my 
mind.  I  was  engrossed  with  thoughts  of  Elsa,  with 
fancies  about  my  Co,untess,  with  strange  dim  specu- 
lations that  touched  me — the  young  man,  not  the 
king  about  whom  all  the  coil  was.  Had  I  been  called 
upon  to  condense  those  vague  meditations  and  emo- 
tions into  a  sentence,  I  would  have  borrowed  what 
Vohrenlorf  had  said  to  me  when  we  were  with  the 
Bartensteins.  He  did  not  often  hit  the  nail  exactly 


DESTINY   IN   A   PINAFORE. 


95 


on  the  head,  but  just  now  I  could  give  no  better  sum- 
mary of  all  I  felt  than  his  soberly  optimistic  reminder : 
"  Ah,  well,  even  if  it  should  be  so,  you  have  six 
years !  " 

The  thought  that  I  treasured  on  the  way  to 
Artenberg  that  evening  was  the  thought  of  my  six 
years. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JUST  WHAT  WOULD   HAPPEN. 

SOON  after  my  return  my  mother  and  I  went  into 
residence  at  Forstadt.  My  time  was  divided  be- 
tween mastering  my  public  duties  under  Hammer- 
feldt's  tuition,  and  playing  a  prominent  part  in  the 
gaieties  of  the  capital.  Just  now  I  was  on  cordial, 
if  not  exactly  intimate,  terms  with  the  Princess.  She 
appeared  to  have  resigned  herself  to  Hammerfeldt's 
preponderating  influence  in  political  affairs,  and  to 
accept  in  compensation  the  office  of  mentor  and  guide 
in  all  social  matters.  I  was  happy  in  the  establish- 
ment of  a  modus  Vivendi  which  left  me  tolerably  free 
from  the  harassing  trifles  of  ceremonial  and  etiquette. 
To  Hammerfeldt's  instructions  I  listened  with  avidity 
and  showed  a  deference  which  did  not  forbid  secret 
criticism.  He  worked  me  hard ;  the  truth  is  (and 
it  was  not  then  hidden  either  from  him  or  from  me) 
that  his  strength  was  failing ;  age  had  not  bent,  but 
it  threatened  to  break  him  ;  the  time  was  short  in 
which  he  could  hope  to  be  by  my  side,  binding  his 
principles  and  rivetting  his  methods  on  me.  He  was 
too  shrewd  not  to  detect  in  me  a  curiosity  of  intel- 
lect that  only  the  strongest  and  deepest  preposses- 
sions could  restrain ;  these  it  was  his  untiring  effort 
to  create  in  my  mind  and  to  buttress  till  they  were 
impregnable.  To  some  extent  he  attained  his  ob- 
96 


JUST   WHAT   WOULD    HAPPEN.  gj 

ject,  but  his  success  was  limited;  and  his  teaching 
affected  by  what  I  can  only  call  a  modernness  of  tem- 
perament in  me,  which  no  force  of  tradition  wholly 
destroyed  or  stifled.  That  many  things  must  be 
treated  as  beyond  question  was  the  fruit  of  his  max- 
ims ;  it  is  a  position  which  I  have  never  been  able  to 
adopt ;  with  me  the  acid  of  doubt  bit  into  every 
axiom.  I  took  pleasure  in  the  society  and  argu- 
ments of  the  liberal  politicians  and  journalists  who 
began  to  frequent  the  court  as  soon  as  a  rumour  of 
my  inclinations  spread.  I  became  the  centre  and 
object  of  a  contention  between  the  Right  and  the 
Left,  between  Conservative  and  Liberal  forces — or, 
if  I  apply  to  each  party  the  nickname  accorded  to 
it  by  the  enemy,  between  the  Reaction  and  the  Revo- 
lution. 

Doubtless  all  this  will  find  an  accomplished,  and 
possibly  an  impartial,  historian.  Its  significance  for 
these  personal  memoirs  is  due  chiefly  to  the  acci- 
dental fact  that,  whereas  my  mother  was  the  social 
centre  of  the  orthodox  party  and  in.  that  capacity 
gave  solid  aid  to  Hammerfeldt,  the  unorthodox  gath- 
ered round  the  Countess  von  Sempach.  Her  hus- 
band was  considered  no  more  than  a  good  soldier, 
a  man  of  high  rank,  and  a  devoted  husband ;  by  her 
own  talents  and  charm  this  remarkable  woman,  al- 
though a  foreigner,  had  achieved  for  herself  a  posi- 
tion of  great  influence.  She  renewed  the  glories  of 
the  political  salon  in  Forstadt;  but  she  never  talked 
politics.  Eminent  men  discussed  deep  secrets  with 
one  another  in  her  rooms.  She  was  content  to  please 
their  taste  without  straining  their  intellects  or  seek- 
ing to  rival  them  in  argument.  By  the  abdication 
of  a  doubtful  claim  she  reigned  absolute  in  her  owji 
dominion.  It  was  from  studying  her  that  I  first 


98  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

learned  both  how  far-reaching  is  the  inspiration  of 
a  woman's  personality,  and  how  it  gathers  and  con- 
serves strength  by  remaining  within  its  own  bounda- 
ries and  refusing  alien  conquests.  The  men  of  the 
Princess's  party,  from  Hammerfeldt  downward,  were 
sometimes  impatient  of  her  suggestions  and  attempt- 
ed control ;  the  Countess's  friends  were  never  aware 
that  they  received  suggestions,  and  imagined  them- 
selves to  exercise  control.  I  think  that  the  old  Prince 
was  almost  alone  in  penetrating  the  secret  of  the  real 
power  his  charming  enemy  exercised  and  the  extent 
of  it.  They  were  very  cordial  to  one  another. 

"  Madame,"  he  said  to  her  once,  "  you  might  con- 
vince me  of  anything  if  I  were  not  too  old." 

"  Why,  Prince,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  not  going  to 
pretend  that  your  mind  has  grown  old  ?  " 

"  No,  Countess,  my  feelings,"  he  replied  with  a 
smile.  Her  answer  was  a  blush. 

This  was  told  to  me  by  Wetter,  a  young  and  very 
brilliant  journalist  who  had  once  given  me  lessons  in 
philosophy,  and  with  whom  I  maintained  a  friendship 
in  spite  of  his  ultra-radical  politics.  He  reminded  me 
now  and  then  of  Geoffrey  Owen,  but  his  enthusiasm 
was  of  a  dryer  sort ;  not  humanity,  but  the  abstract 
idea  of  progress  inspired  him ;  not  the  abolition  of 
individual  suffering,  but  the  perfecting  of  his  logical 
conceptions  in  the  sphere  of  politics  was  his  stimulat- 
ing hope.  And  there  was  in  him  a  strong  alloy  of 
personal  ambition  and  a  stronger  of  personal  passion. 
Rather  to  my  surprise  Hammerfeldt  showed  no  un- 
easiness at  my  friendship  with  him;  I  joked  once  on 
the  subject  and  he  answered  : 

"  Wetter  only  appeals  to  your  intellect,  sire. 
There  I  am  not  afraid  now." 

His  answer,   denying  one  apprehension,   hinted 


JUST   WHAT    WOULD    HAPPEN.  gg 

another.  It  will  cause  no  surprise  that  I  had  re- 
newed an  old  acquaintance  with  the  Countess,  and 
had  been  present  at  a  dinner  in  her  house.  More 
than  this,  I  fell  into  the  habit  of  attending  her  recep- 
tions on  Wednesdays ;  on  this  night  all  parties  were 
welcome,  and  the  gathering  was  by  way  of  being 
strictly  non-political.  Strictly  non-political  also  were 
the  calls  that  I  made  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
when  she  would  recall  our  earlier  meetings,  our 
glances  exchanged,  our  thoughts  of  one  another,  and 
lead  me  to  talk  of  my  boyhood.  These  things  did 
not  appeal  only  to  the  intellect  of  a  youth  of  eighteen 
or  nineteen  when  they  proceeded  from  the  lips  of  a 
beautiful  and  brilliant  woman  of  twenty-eight. 

I  approach  a  very  common  occurrence;  but  in 
my  case  its  progress  and  result  were  specially  modi- 
fied and  conditioned.  There  was  the  political  aspect, 
looming  large  to  the  alarmed  Right;  there  was  the 
struggle  for  more  intimate  influence  over  me,  in 
which  my  mother  fought  with  a  grim  intensity ;  in 
my  own  mind  there  was  always  the  curious  dim  pres- 
ence of  an  inexorable  fate  that  wore  the  incongru- 
ous mask  of  Elsa's  baby  face.  All  these  were  present 
to  me  in  their  full  force  during  the  earlier  period  of 
my  friendship  with  the  Countess,  when  I  was  still 
concealing  from  myself  as  well  as  from  her  and  all 
the  world  that  I  could  ever  desire  to  have  more  than 
friendship.  The  first  stages  past,  there  came  a  time 
when  the  secret  was  still  kept  from  all  save  myself, 
but  when  I  knew  it  writh  an  exultation  not  to  be 
conquered,  with  a  dread  and  a  shame  that  tormented 
while  they  could  not  prevail.  But  I  went  more  and 
more  to  her  house.  I  had  no  evil  intent ;  nay,  I  had 
no  intent  at  all  in  my  going ;  I  could  not  keep  away. 
She  alone  had  come  to  satisfy  me;  with  her  alone, 


ICO  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

all  of  me — thoughts,  feelings,  eyes,  and  ears — seemed 
to  find  some  cause  for  exercise  and  a  worthy  employ- 
ment of  their  life.  The  other  presences  in  my  mind 
grew  fainter  and  intermittent  in  their  visits;  I  gave 
myself  up  to  the  stream  and  floated  down  the  current. 
Yet  I  was  never  altogether  forgetful  nor  blind  to  what 
I  did ;  I  knew  the  transformation  that  had  come  over 
my  friendship ;  to  myself  now  I  could  not  but  call  it 
love ;  I  knew  that  others  in  the  palace,  in  the  chan- 
cellery, in  drawing-rooms,  in  newspaper  offices,  ay, 
perhaps  even  in  the  very  street,  called  it  now,  not 
the  king's  friendship  nor  the  king's  love,  but  the 
king's  infatuation.  Not  even  then  could  I  lose  alto- 
gether the  external  view  of  myself. 

We  were  sitting  by  the  fire  one  evening  in  the 
twilight ;  she  was  playing  with  a  hand-screen,  but 
suffering  the  flames  to  paint  her  face  and  throw  into 
relief  the  sensitive  merry  lips  and  the  eyes  so  full  of 
varied  meanings.  She  had  told  me  to  go,  and  I  had 
not  gone ;  she  leaned  back  and,  after  one  glance  of 
reproof,  fixed  her  regard  on  the  polished  tip  of  her 
shoe  that  rested  on  the  feader.  She  meant  that  she 
would  talk  no  more  to  me;  that  in  her  estimation, 
since  I  had  no  business  to  say,  I  was  already  gone. 
An  impulse  seized  me.  I  do  not  know  what  I  hoped 
nor  why  that  moment  broke  the  silence  which  I  had 
imposed  on  myself.  But  I  told  her  about  the  little, 
fair,  chubby  child  at  the  Castle  of  Bartenstein.  I 
watched  her  closely,  but  her  eyes  never  strayed  from 
her  shoe-tip.  Well,  she  had  never  said  a  word  that 
showed  any  concern  in  such  a  matter ;  even  I  had 
done  little  more  than  look  and  hint  and  come. 

"  It's  as  if  they  meant  me  to  marry  Tote,"  I 
ended.  Tote  was  the  pet  name  by  which  we  called 
her  own  eight-year-old  daughter. 


JUST   WHAT   WOULD    HAPPEN.  iOI 

The  Countess  broke  her  wilful  silence,  but  did 
not  change  the  direction  of  her  eyes. 

"  If  Tote  were  of  the  proper  station,"  she  said 
ironically,  "  she'd  be  just  right  for  you  by  the  time 
you're  both  grown  up." 

"And  you'd  be  mother-in-law?"* 

"  I  should  be  too  old  to  plague  you.  I  should 
just  sit  in  my  corner  in  the  sun." 

"  The  sun  is  always  in  your  corner." 

"  Don't  be  so  complimentary,"  she  said  with  a 
sudden  twitching  of  her  lips.  "  I  shall  have  to  stand 
up  and  curtsey,  and  I  don't  want  to.  Besides,  you 
oughtn't  to  know  how  to  say  things  like  that,  ought 
you,  Caesar  ?  " 

Caesar  was  my — shall  I  say  pet-name? — used 
when  we  were  alone  or  with  Count  Max,  only  in  a 
playful  satire. 

A  silence  followed  for  some  time.  At  last  she 
glanced  toward  me. 

"  Not  gone  yet  ?  "  said  she,  raising  her  brows. 
"  What  will  the  Princess  say  ?  " 

"  I  go  when  I  please,"  said  I,  resenting  the  ques- 
tion as  I  was  meant  to  resent  it. 

"  Yes.    Certainly  not  when  I  please." 

Our  eyes  met  now ;  suddenly  she  blushed, 
and  then  interposed  the  screen  between  herself 
and  me.  A  glorious  thrill  of  youthful  triumph  ran 
through  me;  she  had  paid  her  first  tribute  to  my 
manhood  in  that  blush ;  the  offering  was  small, 
but,  for  its  significance,  frankincense  and  myrrh 
to  me. 

"  I  thought  you  came  to  talk  about  Wetter's  Bill," 
she  suggested  presently  in  a  voice  lower  than  her 
usual  tones. 

"  The  deuce  take  Wetter's  Bill,"  said  I. 


IO2  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  I  am  very  interested  in  it." 

"Just  now?" 

"  Even  just  now,  Caesar."  I  heard  a  little  laugh 
behind  the  screen. 

"  Hammerfeldt  hates  it,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  then  that  settles  it.  You'll  be  against  us, 
of  course !  " 

"  Why  of  course?  " 

"  You  always  do  as  the  Prince  tells  you,  don't 
you?" 

"  Unless  somebody  more  powerful  forbids  me." 

"  Who  is  more  powerful — except  Caesar  him- 
self?" 

I  made  no  answer,  but  I  rose  and,  crossing  the 
rug,  stood  by  her.  I  remember  the  look  and  the  feel 
of  the  room  very  well ;  she  lay  back  in  a  low  chair 
upholstered  in  blue ;  the  firelight,  forbidden  her  face, 
played  on  the  hand  that  held  the  screen,  flushing  its 
white  to  red.  I  could  see  her  hair  gleaming  in  the 
fantastically  varying  light  that  the  flames  gave  as 
they  left  and  fell.  I  was  in  a  tumult  of  excitement 
and  timidity. 

"  More  powerful  than  Caesar?  "  I  asked,  and  my 
voice  shook. 

"  Don't  call  yourself  Caesar." 

"Why  not?" 

There  was  a  momentary  hesitation  before  the 
answer  came  low: 

"  Because  you  mustn't  laugh  at  yourself.  I  may 
laugh  at  you,  but  you  mustn't  yourself." 

I  wondered  at  the  words,  the  tone,  the  strange 
diffidence  that  infected  even  a  speech  so  full  of  her 
gay  bravery.  A  moment  later  she  added  a  reason 
for  her  command. 

"  You're  so  absurd  that   you  mustn't  laugh  at 


The  firelight  played  on  the  hand  that  held  the  screen. 


JUST   WHAT   WOULD    HAPPEN.  IO3 

yourself.  And,  Caesar,  if  you  stay  any  longer, 
or — come  again  soon — other  people  will  laugh  at 
you." 

To  this  day  I  do  not  know  whether  she  meant  to 
give  a  genuine  warning,  or  to  strike  a  chord  that 
should  sound  back  defiance. 

"  If  ten  thousand  of  them  laugh,  what  is  it  to 
me?  They  dare  laugh  only  behind  my  back,"  I 
said. 

She  laughed  before  my  face ;  the  screen  fell,  and 
she  laughed,  saying  softly,  "  Caesar,  Caesar !  " 

I  was  wonderfully  happy  in  my  perturbation. 
The  great  charm  she  had  for  me  was  to-day  alloyed 
less  than  ever  before  by  the  sense  of  rawness  which 
ske,  above  all  others,  could  compel  me  to  feel.  To- 
day she  herself  was  not  wholly  calm,  not  mistress 
of  herself  without  a  struggle,  without  her  moments 
of  faintness.  Yet  now  she  appeared  composed  again, 
and  there  was  nothing  but  merriment  in  her  eyes. 
She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  I  was  supposed 
to  be  gone.  I  daresay  that  not  to  her,  any  more  than 
to  myself,  could  I  seem  quite  like  an  ordinary  boy ; 
perhaps  the  more  I  forgot  what  was  peculiar  about 
me  the  more  she  remembered  it,  my  oblivion  serving 
to  point  her  triumph. 

"And  the  Princess?"  she  asked,  laughing  still, 
but  now  again  a  little  nervously. 

My  exultation,  finding  vent  in  mischief  and  im- 
pelled by  curiosity,  drove  me  to  a  venture. 

"  I  shall  tell  the  Princess  that  I  kissed  you," 
said  I. 

The  Countess  suddenly  sat  upright. 

"  And  that  you  kissed  me-^several  times,"  I  con- 
tinued. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  "  she  cried  in  a  whisper ;  and 


104  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

her  cheeks  flamed  in  blushes  and  in  firelight.  My 
little  device  was  a  triumph.  I  began  to  laugh. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  she  asks  me  when,"  I  added, 
"  I  shall  confess  that  it  was  ten  years  ago." 

Many  emotions  mingled  in  my  companion's 
glance  as  she  sank  back  in  her  chair ;  she  was  indig- 
nant at  the  trap,  amused  at  having  been  caught  in 
it,  not  fully  relieved  from  embarrassment,  not  wholly 
convinced  that  the  explanation  of  my  daring  speech 
covered  all  the  intent  with  which  it  had  been  uttered, 
perhaps  not  desirous  of  being  convinced  too  thor- 
oughly. A  long  pause  followed.  Timidity  held  me 
back  from  further  advance.  For  that  evening 
enough  seemed  to  have  passed ;  I  had  made  a  start 
— to  go  further  might  be  to  risk  all.  I  was  abqjit 
to  take  my  leave  when  she  looked  up  again,  saying : 

"And  about  Wetter's  Bill,  Caesar?" 

"  You  know  I  can  do  nothing." 

"  Can  Caesar  do  nothing?  If  you  were  known 
to  favour  it  fifty  votes  would  be  changed."  Her  face 
was  eager  and  animated.  I  looked  down  at  her  and 
smiled.  She  flushed  again,  and  cried  hastily : 

"  No,  no,  never  mind ;  at  least,  not  to-night." 

I  suppose  that  my  smile  persisted,  and  was  not 
a  mirthful  one.  It  stirred  anger  and  resentment 
in  her. 

"  I  know  why  you're  smiling,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
suppose  that  when  I  was  kind  to  you  as  a  baby,  I 
wanted  something  from  you  too,  did  I  ?  " 

She  had  detected  the  thought  that  had  come  so 
inevitably  into  my  mind,  that  she  should  resent  it 
so  passionately  almost  persuaded  me  of  its  injus- 
tice. I  turned  from  it  to  the  pleasant  memory  of  her 
earlier  impulsive  kindness.  I  put  out  my  hands  and 
grasped  hers.  She  let  me  hold  them  for  an  instant 


JUST   WHAT   WOULD    HAPPEN.  IO5 

and  then  drew  them  away.  She  gave  rather  a  forced 
laugh. 

"  You're  too  young  to  be  bothered  about  Bills," 
she  said,  "  and  too  young  for — for  all  sorts  of  other 
things,  too.  Run  away ;  never  mind  me  with  my 
Bills  and  my  wrinkles." 

"  Your  wrinkles  !  " 

"  Oh,  if  not  now,  in  a  year  or  two ;  by  the  time 
you're  ready  to  marry  Elsa." 

As  she  spoke  she  rose  and  stood  facing  me.  A 
new  sense  of  her  beauty  came  over  me ;  her  beauty's 
tragedy,  already  before  her  eyes,  was  to  me  remote 
and  impossible.  Because  it  was  not  yet  very  near 
she  exaggerated  its  nearness;  because  it  was  inevi- 
table I  turned  away  from  it.  Indeed,  who  could  re- 
member, seeing  her  then  ?  Who  save  herself,  as  she 
looked  on  my  youth? 

"You'll  soon  be  old  and  ugly?"  I  asked, 
laughing. 

"  Yes,  soon ;  it  will  seem  very  soon  to  you." 

"What's  the  moral?"  said  I. 

She  laughed  uneasily,  twisting  the  screen  in  her 
hands.  For  an  instant  she  raised  her  eyes  to  mine, 
and  as  they  dropped  again  she  whispered  : 

"  A  short  life  and  a  merry  one  ?  " 

My  hand  flew  out  to  her  again ;  she  took  it,  and, 
after  a  laughing  glance,  curtseyed  low  over  it,  as 
though  in  formal  farewell.  I  had  not  meant  that, 
and  laughed  in  my  turn. 

"  I  shan't  be  old — well,  by  to-morrow,"  she  mur- 
mured, and  glanced  ostentatiously  at  the  clock. 

"  May  I  come  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  never  invite  you." 

"Shall  you  be  here?" 

"  It's  not  one  of  my  receiving  days." 


106  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  I  like  a  good  chance  better  than  a  poor  cer- 
tainty. At  least  there  will  be  nobody  else  here." 

"  Max,  perhaps." 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  You  don't  think  so?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that,  Caesar?  No,  I  don't  want  to  know.  I  believe 
it  was  impertinent.  Are  you  going?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  when  I  have  kissed  your  hand." 

She  said  nothing,  but  held  it  out  to  me.  She 
smiled,  but  there  seemed  to  me  to  be  pain  in  her 
eyes.  I  pressed  her  hand  to  my  lips  and  went  out 
without  speaking  again.  As  I  closed  the  door  I 
heard  her  fling  herself  back  into  her  chair  with  a 
curious  little  sound,  half-cry,  half-sigh. 

I  left  the  house  quickly  and  silently;  no  servant 
was  summoned  to  escort  me.  I  walked  a  few  yards 
along  the  street  to  where  Wetter  lived.  My  car- 
riage was  ordered  to  come  for  me  at  Wetter's ;  it 
had  not  yet  arrived.  To  be  known  to  visit  Wetter  was 
to  accept  the  blame  of  a  smaller  indiscretion  as  the 
price  of  hiding  a  greater.  The  deputy  was  at  home, 
writing  in  his  study ;  he  received  me  with  an  ad- 
mirable unconsciousness  of  where  I  had  come  from. 
I  was  still  in  a  state  of  excitement,  and  was  glad 
to  sit  smoking  quietly  while  his  animated,  fluent  talk 
ran  on.  He  was  full  of  this  Bill  of  his,  and  explained 
its  provisions  to  me  with  the  air  of  desiring  that  I 
should  understand  its  spirit  and  aim,  and  of  being 
willing  then  to  leave  it  to  my  candid  consideration. 
He  did  not  attempt  to  blink  the  difficulties. 

"  Of  course  we  have  the  Prince  and  all  the  party 
of  Reaction  against  us,"  he  said.  "  But  your  Maj- 
esty is  not  a  member  of  any  party." 

"  Not  even  of  yours  yet,"  said  I  with  a  laugh. 

He  laughed  in  his  turn,  openly  and  merrily. 


JUST   WHAT   WOULD    HAPPEN.  IO/ 

"  I'm  a  poor  schemer,"  he  said.  "  But  I  don't 
know  why  it  should  be  wrong  for  you  to  hear  my 
views  any  more  than  Hammerfeldt's." 

The  servant  entered  and  announced  the  arrival 
of  my  carriage.  Wetter  escorted  me  to  it. 

"  I'll  promise  not  to  mention  the  Bill,  if  you'll 
honour  me  by  coming  again,  sire,"  he  said  as  he  held 
the  brougham  door. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come  again ;  I  like  to 
hear  about  it,"  I  answered.  His  bow  and  smile  con- 
veyed absolutely  nothing  but  a  respectful  gratifica- 
tion and  a  friendly  pleasure.  Yet  he  knew  that  the 
situation  of  his  house  was  more  responsible  for  my 
visit  than  the  interest  of  his  projects. 

In  part  I  saw  clear  enough  even  at  this  time.  It 
was  the  design  and  hope  of  Wetter  and  his  friends 
to  break  down  Hammerfeldt's  power  and  obtain  a 
political  influence  over  me.  Hammerfeldt's  political 
dominance  seemed  to  them  to  be  based  on  a  personal 
ascendency ;  this  they  must  contrive  to  match. 
Their  instrument  was  not  far  to  seek.  The  Countess 
was  ready  to  their  hand,  a  beautiful  woman,  sharp- 
est weapon  of  all  in  such  a  strife.  They  put  her  for- 
ward against  the  Prince  in  the  fight  whereof  I  was  the 
prize.  All  this  I  saw,  against  it  all  I  was  forewarned, 
and  forearmed.  Knowledge  gave  security.  But  there 
was  more,  and  here  with  the  failure  of  insight  safety 
was  compromised.  What  was  her  mind  ?  What  was 
her  part,  not  as  it  seemed  to  these  busy  politicians,  but 
as  her  own  heart  taught  it  her?  Here  came  to  me 
the  excitement  of  uncertainty,  the  impulse  of  youth, 
the  prick  of  vanity,  the  longing  for  that  intimate  love 
of  which  my  life  had  given  me  so  little.  Was  I  to 
her  also  only  something  to  be  used  in  the  game  of 
politics,  a  tool  that  she,  a  defter  tool,  must  shape 


IO8  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

and  point  before  it  could  be  of  use?  I  tried  to  say 
this  to  myself  and  to  make  a  barrier  of  the  knowl- 
edge. But  was  it  all  the  truth?  Remembering  her 
eyes  and  tones,  her  words  and  hesitations,  I  could 
not  accept  it  for  the  whole  truth.  There  was  more, 
what  more  I  knew  no£.  Even  if  there  had  been  no 
more  I  was  falling  so  deep  into  the  gulf  of  passion 
that  it  crossed  my  mind  to  take  while  I  gave;  and, 
if  I  were  to  be  used,  to  exact  my  hire.  In  a  tumult 
of  these  thoughts,  embracing  now  what  in  the  next 
moment  I  rejected,  revolting  in  a  sudden  fear  from 
the  plan  which  just  before  seemed  so  attractive,  I 
passed  the  evening  and  the  night.  For  I  had  taken 
up  that  mixed  heritage  of  good  and  evil,  of  pain  and 
power,  that  goes  by  the  name  of  manhood;  and 
when  a  new  heir  enters  on  his  inheritance  there  is  a 
time  before  he  can  order  it. 


CHAPTER   X. 

OF   A   POLITICAL   APPOINTMENT. 

A  FEW  days  later  my  mother  informed  me  that 
Victoria  and  her  husband  had  proposed  to  pay  us 
a  long  visit.  I  could  make  no  objection.  Princess 
Heinrich  observed  that  I  should  be  glad  to  see  Vic- 
toria again,  and  should  enjoy  the  companionship 
of  William  Adolphus.  In  my  mind  I  translated  her 
speech  into  a  declaration  that  Victoria  might  have 
some  influence  over  me  although  my  mother  had 
none,  and  that  William  Adolphus  would  be  more 
wholesome  company  than  my  countesses  and  Wet- 
ters  and  such  riff-raff.  I  was  unable  to  regard  Wil- 
liam Adolphus  as  an  intellectual  resource,  and  did 
not  associate  Victoria  with  the  exercise  of  influence. 
The  weakness  of  the  Princess's  new  move  revealed 
the  straits  to  which  she  felt  herself  reduced.  The 
result  of  the  position  which  I  have  described  was 
almost  open  strife  between  her  and  me ;  Hammer- 
feldt's  powerful  bridle  alone  held  her  back  from  de- 
clared rupture.  His  method  of  facing  the  danger 
was  very  different.  He  sought  to  exercise  no  veto, 
but  he  kept  watch ;  he  knew  where  I  went,  but  made 
no  objection  to  my  going;  any  liberal  notions  which 
I  betrayed  in  conversation  with  him  he  received  with 
courteous  attention,  and  affected  to  consider  the  re- 
sult of  my  own  meditations.  Had  my  feelings  been 

109 


IIO  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

less  deeply  involved  I  think  his  method  would  have 
succeeded ;  even  as  it  was  he  checked  and  retarded 
what  he  could  not  stop:  The  cordiality  of  our  per- 
sonal relations  remained  unbroken  and  so  warm  that 
he  felt  himself  able  to  speak  to  me  in  a  half-serious, 
half-jesting  way  about  the  Countess  von  Sempach. 

"  A  most  charming  woman  indeed,"  said  he.  "  In 
fact,  too  charming  a  woman." 

I  understood  him,  and  began  to  defend  myself. 

"  I'm  not  in  love  with  the  Countess,"  I  said ; 
(<  but  I  give  her  my  confidence,  Prince." 

He  shook  his  head,  smiled,  and  took  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  glancing  at  me  humorously. 

"  Reverse  it,"  he  suggested.  "  Be  in  love  with 
her,  but  don't  give  her  your  confidence.  You'll  find 
it  safer  and  also  more  pleasant  that  way." 

My  confidence  might  affect  high  matters,  my 
love  he  regarded  as  a  passing  fever.  He  did  not  be- 
long to  an  age  of  strict  morality  in  private  life,  and 
his  bent  of  mind  was  utterly  opposed  to  considering 
an  intrigue  with  a  woman  of  the  Countess's  attrac- 
tions as  a  serious  crime  in  a  young  man  of  my  posi- 
tion. "  Hate  her,"  was  my  mother's  impossible  ex- 
hortation. "  Love  her,  but  don't  trust  her,"  was  the 
Prince's  subtle  counsel.  He  passed  at  once  from  the 
subject,  content  with  the  seed  that  he  had  sown. 
There  was  much  in  him  and  in  his  teaching  which 
one  would  defend  to-day  at  some  cost  of  reputation ; 
but  I  never  left  him  without  a  heightened  and  en- 
hanced sense  of  my  position  and  my  obligations. 
If  you  will,  he  lowered  the  man  to  exalt  the  king; 
this  was  of  a  piece  with  all  his  wily  compromises. 

Victoria  arrived,  and  her  husband.  William 
Adolphus's  attitude  was  less  apologetic  than  it  had 
been  before  marriage ;  he  had  made  Victoria  mother 


OF   A   POLITICAL   APPOINTMENT.  m 

to  a  fine  baby,  and  claimed  the  just  credit.  He  was 
jovial,  familiar,  and,  if  I  may  so  express  myself, 
brotherly  to  the  last  degree.  Happily,  however,  he 
interpreted  his  more  assured  position  as  enabling  him 
to  choose  his  own  friends  and  his  own  pursuits ;  these 
were  not  mine,  and  in  consequence  I  was  little  trou- 
bled with  his  company.  As  an  ally  to  my  mother 
he  was  a  passive  failure ;  his  wife  was  worse  than 
inactive.  Victoria's  conduct  displayed  the  height  of 
unwisdom.  She  denounced  the  Countess  to  my  face, 
and  besought  my  mother  to  omit  the  Sempachs  from 
her  list  of  acquaintances.  Fortunately  the  Princess 
had  been  dissuaded  from  forcing  on  an  open  scan- 
dal ;  my  sister  had  to  be  content  with  matching  her 
mother's  coldness  by  her  rudeness  when  the  Count- 
ess came  to  Court.  Need  I  say  that  my  attentions 
grew  the  more  marked,  and  gossip  even  more  rife? 
Wetter's  Bill  came  up  for  discussion,  and  was 
hurled  in  vain  against  Hammerfeldt's  solid  phalanx 
of  country  gentlemen  and  wealthy  bourgeoisie.  I  had 
kept  a  seal  on  my  lips,  and  in  common  opinion  was 
still  the  Prince's  docile  disciple.  Wetter  accepted 
my  attitude  with  easy  friendliness,  but  he  ventured 
to  observe  that  if  any  case  arose  which  enabled  me 
to  show  that  my  hostility  to  his  party  was  not  in- 
veterate, the  proof  would  be  a  pleasure  to  him  and 
his  friends,  and  possibly  of  no  disadvantage  to  me. 
Not  the  barest  reference  to  the  Countess  pointed 
his  remark.  I  had  not  seen  her  or  heard  from  her 
for  nearly  a  week ;  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  after 
the  Bill  was  thrown  out  I  decided  to  pay  her  a  visit. 
Wetter  was  to  take  luncheon  at  her  house,  and  I 
allowed  him  to  drop  a  hint  of  my  coming.  I  felt 
that  I  had  done  my  duty  as  regards  the  Bill ;  I  was 
very  apprehensive  of  my  reception  by  the  Countess. 


H2  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

The  opposition  that  encircled  me  inflamed  my  pas- 
sion for  her;  the  few  days'  separation  had  served  to 
convince  me  that  I  could  not  live  without  her. 

I  found  her  alone;  her  face  was  a  little  flushed 
and  her  eyes  bright.  The  moment  the  door  was  shut 
she  turned  on  me  almost  fiercely. 

"Why  did  you  send  to  say  you  were  coming?" 

"  I  didn't  send ;  I  told  Wetter.  Besides,  I  always 
send  before  I  go  anywhere." 

"  Not  always  before  you  come  to  me,"  she  re- 
torted. "  You're  not  to  hide  behind  your  throne, 
Caesar.  I  was  going  out  if  you  hadn't  prevented 
me." 

"  The  hindrance  need  not  last  a  moment,"  said 
I,  bowing. 

She  looked  at  me  for  an  instant,  then  broke  into 
a  reluctant  smile. 

"  You  haven't  sent  to  say  you  were  coming  for 
a  week,"  she  said. 

"  No ;  nor  come  either." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  that's  it.  Sit  down ;  so  will  I. 
No,  in  your  old  place,  over  there.  Max  has  been 
giving  me  a  beautiful  bracelet." 

"  That's  very  kind  of  Max." 

She  glanced  at  me  with  challenging  witchery. 

"  And  I've  promised  to  wear  it  every  day — never 
to  be  without  it.  Doesn't  it  look  well  ?  "  She  held 
up  her  arm  where  the  gold  and  jewels  sparkled  on 
the  white  skin  as  the  sleeve  of  her  gown  fell  back. 

I  paid  to  Max's  bracelet  and  the  arm  which  wore 
it  the  meed  of  looks,  not  of  words. 

"  I've  been  afraid  to  come,"  I  said. 

"  Is  there  anything  to  be  afraid  of  here  ?  "  she 
asked  with  a  smile,  and  a  wave  of  her  hands. 

"  Because  of  Wetter's  Bill." 


OF   A   POLITICAL   APPOINTMENT.  ^3 

"  Oh,  the  Bill !    You  were  very  cowardly,  Caesar." 

"  I  could  do  nothing." 

"  You  never  can,  it  seems  to  me."  She  fixed  on 
me  eyes  that  she  had  made  quite  grave  and  invested 
with  a  critically  discriminating  regard.  "  But  I'm 
very  pleased  to  see  you.  Oh,  and  I  forgot — of 
course  I'm  very  much  honoured  too.  I'm  always 
forgetting  what  you  are." 

On  an  impulse  of  chagrin  at  the  style  of  her  re- 
ception, or  of  curiosity,  or  of  bitterness,  I  spoke  the 
thought  of  my  mind. 

"  You  never  forget  it  for  a  moment,"  I  said.  "  I 
forget  it,  not  you." 

She  covered  a  start  of  surprise  by  a  hasty  and 
pretty  little  yawn,  but  her  eyes  were  inquisitive,  al- 
most apprehensive.  After  a  moment  she  picked  up 
her  old  weapon,  the  firescreen,  and  hid  her  face  from 
the  eyes  downward.  But  the  eyes  were  set  on  me, 
and  now,  it  seemed,  in  reproach. 

"  If  you  think  that,  I  wonder  you  come  at  all," 
she  murmured. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  forget  it.  But  I'm  some- 
thing besides." 

"  Yes,  a  poor  boy  with  a  cruel  mother — and  a 
rude  sister — and—  She  sprang  suddenly  to  her 

feet.  "  And,"  she  went  on,  "  a  charming  old  ad- 
viser. Caesar,  I  met  Prince  von  Hammerfeldt.  Shall 
I  tell  you  what  he  said  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  He  bowed  over  my  hand  and  kissed  it  and 
smiled,  and  twinkled  with  his  old  eyes,  and  then  he 
said,  '  Madame,  I  am  growing  vain  of  my  influence 
over  his  Majesty/  ' 

"  The  Prince  was  complimenting  you,"  I  re- 
marked, although  I  was  not  so  dull  as  to  miss 


H4  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

either  Hammerfeldt's  mockery  or  her  understand- 
ing of  it. 

"  Complimenting  me?  Yes,  I  suppose  he  was — 
on  not  having  done  you  any  harm.  Why  ?  Because 
I  couldn't !  " 

"  You  wouldn't  wish  to,  Countess  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  might  wish  to  be  able  to,  Caesar." 

She  stood  there  the  embodiment  of  a  power  the 
greater  because  it  feigned  distrust  of  its  own  might. 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that,"  she  continued  a  mo- 
ment later.  "  But  I  should "  She  drew  near  to 

me  and,  catching  up  a  little  chair,  sat  down  on  it, 
close  to  my  elbow.  "  Ah,  how  I  should  like  the 
Prince  to  think  I  had  a  little  power!"  Then  in  a 
low  coaxing  whisper  she  added,  "  You  need  only  to 
pretend — pretend  a  little  just  to  please  me,  Caesar." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  just  to  please  me,  Count- 
ess ?  "  My  whisper  was  low  also,  but  full  where 
hers  had  been  delicate ;  rough,  not  gentle,  urging 
rather  than  imploring.  I  was  no  match  for  her  in 
the  science  of  which  she  was  mistress,  but  I  did  not 
despair.  She  seemed  nervous,  as  though  she  dis- 
trusted even  her  keen  thrusts  and  ready  parries.  I 
was  but  a  boy  still,  but  sometimes  nature  betrays  the 
secrets  of  experience.  Suddenly  she  broke  out  in 
a  new  attack,  or  a  new  line  of  the  general  attack. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  show  a  little  independ- 
ence? "  she  asked.  "  The  Prince  would  like  you  all 
the  better  for  it."  She  looked  in  my  face.  "  And 
people  would  think  more  of  you.  They  say  that 
Hammerfeldt  is  the  real  king  now — or  he  and  Prin- 
cess Heinrich  between  them." 

"  I  thought  they  said  that  you— 

"  I!  Do  they?  Perhaps!  They  know  so  little. 
If  they  knew  anything  they  couldn't  say  that." 


OF   A   POLITICAL   APPOINTMENT.  u^ 

To  be  told  they  gossiped  of  her  influence  seemed 
to  have  no  terror  for  her ;  her  regret  was  that  the 
talk  should  be  all  untrue  and  she  in  fact  impotent. 
She  stirred  me  to  declare  that  power  was  hers  and 
I  her  servant.  It  seemed  to  me  that  to  accept  her 
leading  was  to  secure  perennial  inspiration  and  a 
boundless  reward.  Was  Hammerfeldt  my  school- 
master? I  was  not  blind  to  the  share  that  vanity 
had  in  her  mood  nor  to  ambition's  part  in  it,  but  I 
saw  also  and  exulted  in  her  tenderness.  All  these 
impulses  in  her  I  was  now  ready  to  use,  for  I  also 
had  my  vanity — a  boy's  vanity  in  a  tribute  wrung 
from  a  woman.  And,  beyond  this,  passion  was 
strong  in  me. 

She  went  on  in  real  or  affected  petulance : 

"  Can  they  point  to  anything  I  have  done  ?  Are 
any  appointments  made  to  please  me?  Are  my 
friends  ever  favoured  ?  They  are  all  out  in  the  cold, 
and  likely  to  stay  there,  aren't  they,  Caesar?  Oh, 
you're  very  wise.  You  take  what  I  give  you ;  no- 
body need  know  of  that.  But  you  give  nothing,  be- 
cause that  would  make  talk  and  gossip.  The  Prince 
has  taught  you  well.  Yes,  you're  very  prudent." 
She  paused,  and  stood  looking  at  me  with  a  con- 
temptuous smile  on  her  lips ;  then  she  broke  into  a 
pitying  little  laugh.  "  Poor  boy !  "  said  she.  "  It's 
a  shame  to  scold  you.  You  can't  help  it." 

It  is  easy  enough  now  to  say  that  all  this  was 
cunningly  thought  of  and  cunningly  phrased.  Yet 
it  was  not  all  cunning ;  or  rather  it  was  the  primi- 
tive, unmeditated  cunning  that  nature  gives  to 
us,  the  instinctive  weapon  to  which  the  woman 
flew  in  her  need,  a  cunning  of  heart,  not  of  brain. 
However  inspired,  however  shaped,  it  did  its 
work. 


H6  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

"What  do  you  ask?"  said  I.  In  my  agitation 
I  was  brief  and  blunt. 

"  Ask  ?  Must  I  ask  ?  Well,  I  ask  that  you  should 
show  somehow,  how  you  will,  that  you  trust  us,  that 
we  are  not  outcasts,  riff-raff,  as  Princess  Heinrich 
calls  us,  lepers.  Do  it  how  you  like,  choose  anybody 
you  like  from  among  us — I  don't  ask  for  any  special 
person.  Show  that  some  one  of  us  has  your  confi- 
dence. Why  shouldn't  you?  The  King  should  be 
above  prejudice,  and  we're  honest,  some  of  us." 

I  tried  to  speak  lightly,  and  smiled  at  her. 

"  You  are  all  I  love  in  the  world,  some  of  you," 
I  said. 

She  sat  down  again  in  the  little  chair,  and  turned 
her  face  upward  toward  me. 

"  Then  do  it,  Caesar,"  she  said  very  softly. 

It  had  been  announced  a  few  days  before  that 
our  ambassador  at  Paris  had  asked  to  be  relieved 
of  his  post ;  there  was  already  talk  about  his  suc- 
cessor. Remembering  this,  I  said,  more  in  jest  than 
seriousness : 

"  The  Paris  Embassy  ?  Would  that  satisfy  you  ?  " 

Her  face  became  suddenly  radiant,  merry,  and 
triumphant ;  she  clapped  her  hands,  and  then  held 
them  clasped  toward  me. 

"  You  suggested  it  yourself !  "  she  cried. 

"  In  joke !  " 

"  Joke  ?  I  won't  be  joked  with.  I  choose  that 
you  should  be  serious.  You  said  the  Paris  Embassy ! 
Are  you  afraid  it'll  make  Hammerfeldt  too  angry? 
Fancy  the  Princess  and  your  sister!  How  I  shall 
love  to  see  them !  "  She  dropped  her  voice  as  she 
added,  "  Do  it  for  me,  Caesar." 

"Who  should  have  it?" 

"  I  don't  care.     Anybody,  so  long  as  he's  one 


OF   A   POLITICAL   APPOINTMENT. 

of  us.  Choose  somebody  good,  and  then  you  can 
defy  them  all." 

She  saw  the  seriousness  that  had  now  fallen  on 
me ;  what  I  had  idly  suggested,  and  she  caught  up 
with  so  fervent  a  welcome,  was  no  small  thing.  If 
I  did  it,  it  would  be  at  the  cost  of  Hammerfeldt's 
confidence,  perhaps  of  his  services ;  he  might  refuse 
to  endure  such  an  open  rebuff.  .  And  I  knew  in  my 
heart  that  the  specious  justifications  were  unsound; 
I  should  not  act  because  of  them,  they  were  the 
merest  pretext.  I  should  give  what  she  asked  to 
her.  Should  I  not  be  giving  her  my  honour  also, 
that  public  honour  which  I  had  learned  to  hold  so 
high? 

"  I  can't  promise  to-day ;  you  must  let  me  think," 
I  pleaded. 

I  was  prepared  for  another  outburst  of  petulance, 
for  accusations  of  timidity,  of  indifference,  again  of 
willingness  to  take,  and  unwillingness  to  give.  But 
she  sat  still,  looking  at  me  intently,  and  presently 
laid  her  hand  in  mine. 

"  Yes,  think,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

I  bent  down  and  kissed  the  hand  that  lay  in  mine. 
Then  she  raised  it,  and  held  her  arm  up  before  him. 

"  Max's  bracelet !  "  she  said,  sighing  again  and 
smiling.  Then  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  walking  to 
the  hearth,  stood  looking  down  into  the  fire.  I  did 
not  join  her,  but  sat  in  my  chair.  For  a  long  while 
neither  of  us  spoke.  At  last  I  rose  slowly.  She 
heard  the  movement  and  turned  her  head. 

"  I  will  come  again  to-morrow,"  I  said. 

She  stood  still  for  a  moment,  regarding  me  in- 
tently. Then  she  walked  quickly  across  to  me,  hold- 
ing out  her  hands.  As  I  took  them  she  laughed 
nervously.  I  did  not  speak,  but  I  looked  into  her 


H8  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

eyes,  and  then,  as  I  pressed  her  hands,  I  kissed 
her  cheek.  The  nervous  laugh  came  again,  but 
she  said  nothing.  I  left  her  standing  there  and 
went  out. 

I  walked  home  alone  through  the  lighted  streets. 
It  has  always  been,  and  is  still,  my  custom  to  walk 
about  freely  and  unattended.  This  evening  the 
friendly  greetings  of  those  who  chanced  to  recog- 
nise me  in  the  glare  of  the  lamps  were  pleasant  to 
me.  I  remember  thinking  that  all  these  good  folk 
would  be  grieved  if  they  knew  what  was  going  on 
in  the  young  King's  mind,  how  he  was  torn  hither 
and  thither,  his  only  joy  a  crime,  and  the  guarding 
of  his  honour  become  a  sacrifice  that  seemed  too 
great  for  his  strength.  There  was  one  kind-faced 
fellow  in  particular,  whom  I  noticed  drinking  a  glass 
at  a  -cafe.  He  took  off  his  hat  to  me  with  a  cheery 
"  God  bless  your  Majesty !  "  I  should  have  liked 
to  sit  down  by  him  and  tell  him  all  about  it.  He  had 
been  young,  and  he  looked  shrewd  and  friendly. 
I  had  nobody  whom  I  could  tell  about  it.  I  don't 
remember  ever  seeing  this  man  again,  but  I  think 
of  him  still  as  one  who  might  have  been  a  friend. 
By  his  dress  he  appeared  to  be  a  clerk  or  shop- 
keeper. 

I  had  an  appointment  for  that  evening  with  Ham- 
merfeldt,  but  found  a  note  in  which  he  excused  him- 
self from  coming.  He  had  taken  a  chill,  and  was 
confined  to  his  bed.  The  business  could  wait,  he 
said,  but  went  on  to  remark  that  no  time  should  be 
lost  in  considering  the  question  of  the  Paris  Em- 
bassy. He  added  three  or  four  names  as  possible 
selections  ;  all  those  mentioned  were  well-known  and 
decided  adherents  of  his  own.  I  was  reading'  his 
letter  when  my  mother  and  Victoria  came  in.  They 


OF   A   POLITICAL   APPOINTMENT.  j  Io/ 

had  heard  of  the  Prince's  indisposition,  but  on  mak- 
ing inquiries  were  informed  that  it  was  not  serious. 
I  sent  at  once  to  inquire  after  him,  and  handed  his 
note  to  the  Princess. 

"  Any  of  those  would  do  very  well,"  she  said 
when  she  finished  it.  '  They  have  all  been  trained 
under  the  Prince  and  are  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
his  views." 

"  And  with  mine?"  I  asked,  smiling. 

A  look  of  surprise  appeared  on  my  mother's  face ; 
she  looked  at  me  doubtfully. 

"  The  Prince's  views  are  yours,  I  suppose  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  I'm  not  sure  I  like  any  of  his  selections,"  I  ob- 
served. 

I  do  not  think  that  my  mother  would  have  said 
anything  more  at  the  time ;  her  judgment  having 
been  convinced,  she  would  not  allow  temper  to  lead 
her  into  hostilities.  Here,  as  so  often,  the  unwise 
course  was  left  to  my  dear  Victoria,  who  embraced 
it  with  her  usual  readiness. 

"Doesn't  Wetter  like  any  of  them?"  she  asked 
ironically. 

I  remained  silent.  She  came  nearer  and  looked 
into  my  face,  laughing  maliciously. 

"  Or  is  it  the  Countess  ?  Haven't  they  made 
enough  love  to  the  Countess,  or  too  much,  or 
what?" 

"  My  dear  Victoria,"  I  said,  "  you  must  make 
allowances.  The  Countess  is  the  prettiest  woman  in 
Forstadt." 

My  sister  curtseyed  with  an  ironical  smile. 

"  I  mean,  of  course,"  I  added,  "  since  William 
Adolphus  carried  you  off  to  Gronenstahl." 

My  mother  interrupted  this  little  quarrel. 


I2Q  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  I'm  sure  you'll  be  guided  by  the  Prince's  judg- 
ment," she  observed. 

Victoria  was  not  to  be  quenched. 

"  And  not  by  the  beauty  of  the  prettiest  woman 
in  Forstadt."  And  she  added,  "  The  creature's  as 
plebeian  as  she  can  be." 

As  a  rule  I  was  ready  enough  to  spar  with  my 
sister ;  to-night  I  had  not  the  spirit.  To-night,  more- 
over, she,  whom  as  a  rule  I  could  treat  with  good- 
humoured  indifference,  had  power  to  wound.  The 
least  weighty  of  people  speaking  the  truth  can  not 
be  wholly  disregarded.  I  prepared  to  go  to  my 
room,  remarking: 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  discuss  the  matter  with  the 
Prince." 

Again  Victoria  rushed  to  the  fray. 

"  You  mean  that  it's  not  our  business  ? "  she 
asked  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

I  was  goaded  beyond  endurance,  and  it  was  not 
their  business.  Princess  Heinrich  might  find  some 
excuse  in  her  familiarity  with  public  affairs,  Victoria 
at  least  could  urge  no  such  plea. 

"  I  am  always  glad  of  my  mother's  advice,  Vic- 
toria," said  I,  and  with  a  bow  I  left  them.  As  I 
went  out  I  heard  Victoria  cry,  "  It's  all  that  hateful 
woman !  " 

Naturally  the  thing  appeared  to  me  then  in  a 
different  light  from  that  in  which  I  can  see  it  now. 
I  can  not  now  think  that  my  mother  and  sister  were 
wrong  to  be  anxious,  disturbed,  alarmed,  even  angry 
with  the  lady  who  occasioned  them  such  discomfort. 
A  young  man  under  the  influence  of  an  older  woman 
is  no  doubt  a  legitimate  occasion  for  the  fears  and 
efforts  of  his  female  relatives.  I  have  recorded  what 
they  said  not  in  protest  against  their  feelings,  but 


OF   A   POLITICAL   APPOINTMENT.  i2r 

to  show  the  singularly  unfortunate  manner  in  which 
they  made  what  they  felt  manifest ;  my  object  is  not 
to  blame  what  was  probably  inevitable  in  them,  but 
to  show  how  they  overreached  themselves  and  be- 
came not  a  drag  on  my  infatuation,  as  they  hoped, 
but  rather  a  spur  that  incited  my  passion  to  a  quicker 
course. 

That  spur  I  did  not  need.  She  seemed  to  stand 
before  me  still  as  I  had  left  her,  with  my  kiss  fresh 
on  her  cheeks,  and  on  her  lips  that  strange,  nervous, 
helpless  laugh,  the  laugh  that  admitted  a  folly  she 
could  not  conquer,  expressed  a  shame  that  burned 
her  even  while  she  braved  it,  and  owned  a  love  so 
compact  of  this  folly  and  this  shame  that  its  joy 
seemed  all  one  with  their  bitterness.  But  to  my 
younger  heart  and  hotter  man's  blood  the  folly  and 
sharfie  were  now  beaten  down  by  the  joy ;  it  freed 
itself  from  them  and  soared  up  into  my  heart  on  a 
liberated  and  triumphant  wing.  I  had  achieved  this 
thing — I,  the  boy  they  laughed  at  and  tried  to  rule. 
She  herself  had  laughed  at  me.  She  laughed  thus 
no  more.  When  I  kissed  her  she  had  not  called 
me  Caesar;  she  had  found  no  utterance  save  in  that 
laugh,  and  the  message  of  that  laugh  was  surrender. 


CHAPTER   XL 

AN    ACT    OF    ABDICATION. 

THE  night  brought  me  little  rest  and  no  wisdom. 
As  though  its  own  strength  were  not  enough,  my 
passion  sought  and  found  an  ally  in  a  defiant  ob- 
stinacy, which  now  made  me  desirous  of  doing  what 
the  Countess  asked  for  its  own  sake  as  well  as  for 
hers.  Being  diffident,  I  sought  a  mask  in  violence. 
I  wanted  to  assert  myself,  to  show  the  women  that 
I  was  not  to  be  driven,  and  Hammerfeldt  that  I  was 
not  to  be  led.  Neither  their  brusque  insistence  nor 
his  suave  and  dexterous  suggestions  should  control 
me  or  prevent  me  from  exercising  my  own  will.  A 
distorted  view  of  my  position  caused  me  to  find  its 
essence  in  the  power  of  doing  as  I  liked,  and  its  dig- 
nity in  disregarding  wholesome  advice  because  I 
objected  to  the  manner  in  which  it  was  tendered. 
This  mood,  ready  and  natural  enough  in  youth,  was 
an  instrument  of  which  my  passion  made  effective 
use ;  I  pictured  the  consternation  of  my  advisers  with 
hardly  less  pleasure  than  the  delight  of  her  whom 
I  sought  to  serve.  My  sense  of  responsibility  was 
dulled  and  deadened;  I  had  rather  do  wrong  than 
do  nothing,  cause  harm  than  be  the  cause  of  noth- 
ing, that  men  should  blame  me  rather  than  not  can- 
vass my  actions  or  fail  to  attribute  to  me  any  initi- 
ative. I  felt  somehow  that  the  blame  would  lie  with 


AN   ACT   OF   ABDICATION. 


123 


my  counsellors ;  they  had  undertaken  to  guide  and 
control  me.  If  they  failed  they,  more  than  I,  must 
answer  for  the  failure.  Sophistry  of  this  kind  passes 
well  enough  with  one  who  wants  excuses,  and  may 
even  array  itself  in  a  cloak  of  plausibility;  it  was 
strong  in  my  mind  by  virtue  of  the  strong  resent- 
ment from  which  it  sprang,  and  the  strong  ally  to 
which  its  forces  were  joined.  Passion  and  self-asser- 
tion were  at  one ;  my  conquest  would  be  two-fold. 
While  the  Countess  was  brought  to  acknowledge 
my  sway,  those  who  had  hitherto  ruled  my  life  would 
be  reduced  to  a  renunciation  of  their  authority.  The 
day  seemed  to  me  to  promise  at  once  emancipation 
and  conquest ;  to  mark  the  point  at  which  I  was 
to  gain  both  liberty  and  empire,  when  I  should  be- 
come indeed  a  king,  both  in  my  own  palace  and  in 
her  heart  a  king. 

In  the  morning  I  was  occupied  in  routine  busi- 
ness with  one  of  the  Ministers.  This  gentleman  gave 
me  a  tolerably  good  account  of  Hammerfeldt,  al- 
though it  appeared  that  the  Prince  was  suffering 
from  a  difficulty  in  breathing.  There  seemed,  how- 
ever, no  cause  for  alarm,  and  when  I  had  sent  to 
make  inquiries  I  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  remain 
at  home  and  await  the  return  of  my  messenger.  I 
paid  my  usual  formal  visit  to  my  mother's  apart- 
ments. The  Princess  did  not  refer  to  our  previous 
conversation,  but  her  manner  toward  me  was  even 
unusually  stiff  and  distant.  I  think  that  she  had  ex- 
pected repentance.  When  I  in  my  turn  ignored  the 
matter  she  became  curt  and  disagreeable.  I  left  her, 
more  than  ever  determined  on  my  course.  I  was 
glad  to  escape  an  interview  with  Victoria,  and  was 
now  free  to  keep  my  appointment  with  Wetter.  I 
had  proposed  to  lunch  with  him,  saying  that  I  had 


124  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

one  or  two  matters  to  discuss.  Even  in  my  obstinacy 
and  excitement  I  remained  shrewd  enough  to  see 
the  advantage  of  being  furnished  with  well-sound- 
ing reasons  for  the  step  that  I  was  about  to  take. 
Wetter's  forensic  sharpness,  ready  wit,  and  per- 
suasive eloquence  would  dress  my  case  in  better 
colours  than  I  could  contrive  for  myself.  It  mat- 
tered little  to  me  how  well  he  knew  that  arguments 
were  needed,  not  to  convince  myself,  but  to  flourish 
in  the  faces  of  those  who  opposed  and  criticised 
me.  It  was  also  my  intention  to  obtain  from  him 
the  name  of  two  or  three  of  his  friends  who,  apart 
from  their  views,  were  decently  qualified  to  fulfil 
the  duties  of  the  post  in  the  event  of  their  nomi- 
nation. 

It  was  no  shock,  but  rather  a  piquant  titillation 
of  my  bitter  humour,  when  I  disentangled  from  Wet- 
ter's confident  and  eloquent  description  of  the  Ideal 
Ambassador  a  tolerably  accurate,  if  somewhat  par- 
tial, portrait  of  himself.  I  was  rather  surprised  at 
his  desire  for  the  position.  Subsequently  I  learned 
that  pecuniary  embarrassments  made  him  willing  to 
abandon,  for  a  time  at  least,  the  greater  but  more 
uncertain  chances  of  active  political  warfare.  How- 
ever, given  that  he  desired  the  Embassy,  it  caused 
me  no  surprise  that  he  should  ask  for  it.  To  ap- 
point him  would  be  open  war  indeed ;  he  was  the 
Prince's  bete  noire,  my  mother's  pet  aversion ;  that 
he  was  totally  untrained  in  diplomacy  was  a  minor, 
but  possibly  serious,  objection ;  that  he  was  extreme 
in  his  views  seemed  to  me  then  no  disqualification. 
I  allowed  him  to  perceive  that  I  read  his  parable, 
but,  remembering  the  case  of  the  Greek  generals 
and  Themistocles,  ventured  to  ask  him  to  give  me 
another  name. 


AN   ACT   OF   ABDICATION.  I25 

:t  The  only  name  that  I  could  give  your  Majesty 
with  perfect  confidence  would  be  that  of  my  good 
friend  Max  von  Sempach,"  said  he,  with  an  ad- 
mirable air  of  honesty,  but,  as  I  thought,  a  covert 
gleam  of  amusement  in  his  deep-set  eyes.  I  very 
nearly  laughed.  The  only  man  fit  for  the  Embassy, 
except  himself,  was  Count  Max !  And  if  Count  Max 
went,  of  course  the  Countess  would  go  with  him ; 
equally  of  course  the  King  must  stay  in  Forstadt. 
I  saw  Wetter  looking  at  me  keenly  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye ;  it  did  not  suit  me  that  he  should  read 
my  thoughts  this  time.  I  appeared  to  have  no  sus- 
picion of  the  good  faith  of  his  suggestion,  and  said, 
with  an  air  of  surprise : 

"  Max  von  Sempach !  Why,  how  is  he  suit- 
able ?  " 

With  great  gravity  he  gave  me  many  reasons, 
proving  not  that  Max  was  very  suitable,  but  that 
everybody  else  was  profoundly  unsuitable,  except  the 
unmentioned  candidate  whose  name  was  so  well 
understood  between  us. 

"  These,"  I  observed,  "  would  seem  to  be  reasons 
for  looking  elsewhere — I  mean  to  the  other  side — 
for  a  suitable  man." 

He  did  not  trouble  to  argue  that  with  me.  He 
knew  that  his  was  not  the  voice  to  which  I  should 
listen. 

"  If  your  Majesty  comes  to  that  conclusion,  my 
friends  and  I  will  be  disappointed,"  he  said,  "  but  we 
must  accept  your  decision." 

There  was  much  to  like  in  Wetter.  Men  are  not 
insincere  merely  because  they  are  ambitious,  dishon- 
est merely  because  they  are  given  to  intrigue,  selfish 
merely  because  they  ask  places  for  themselves.'  There 
is  a  grossness  of  moral  fibre  not  in  itself  a  good 


126  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

thing,  but  very  different  from  rottenness.  Wetter 
was  a  keen  and  convinced  partisan,  and  an  ardent 
believer  in  himself.  His  cause  ought  to  win,  and, 
if  his  hand  could  take  the  helm,  would  win ;  this 
was  his  attitude,  and  it  excused  some  want  of  scruple 
both  in  promoting  the  cause  and  in  insuring  to  it 
his  own  effective  support.  But  he  was  a  big  man, 
of  a  well-developed  nature,  hearty,  sympathetic,  and 
free  from  cant,  full  of  force,  of  wit,  of  unblunted 
emotion.  He  would  not,  however,  have  made  at  all 
a  good  ambassador ;  and  he  would  not  have  wanted 
to  be  one  had  he  not  run  into  debt. 

Max  von  Sempach,  on  the  other  hand,  would  fill 
the  place  respectably,  although  not  brilliantly.  Wet- 
ter knew  this,  and  the  fact  gave  to  the  mention  of 
the  Count's  name  a  decent  appearance  without  de- 
priving it  of  its  harmlessness.  He  named  a  suitable 
but  an  impossible  person — a  person  to  me  impos- 
sible. 

Soon  after  the  meal  I  left  him,  telling  him  that  I 
should  come  in  again  later,  and  had  ordered  my 
carriage  to  call  for  me  at  his  house  at  five  o'clock. 
Turning  down  the  quiet  lane  that  led  to  the  Count- 
ess's, I  soon  reached  my  destination.  I  was  now 
in  less  agitation  than  on  the  day  before.  My  mind 
was  made  up  ;  I  came  to  give  what  she  asked.  Wet- 
ter should  have  his  Embassy.  More  than  this,  I 
came  no  longer  in  trepidation,  no  longer  fearing  her 
ridicule  even  while  I  sought  her  love,  no  more  op- 
pressed with  the  sense  that  in  truth  she  might  be 
laughing  while  she  seemed  to  encourage.  There  was 
the  dawning  of  triumph  in  my  heart,  an  assurance 
of  victory,  and  the  fierce  delight  in  a  determination 
come  to  at  great  cost  and  to  be  held,  it  may  be,  at 
greater  still.  In  all  these  feelings,  mighty  always, 


AN   ACT   OF   ABDICATION. 


127 


there  were  for  me  the  freshness,  the  rush  of  youth, 
and  the  venturous  joy  of  new  experience. 

On  her  also  a  crisis  of  feeling  had  come ;  she  was 
not  her  old  self,  nor  I  to  her  what  I  had  been.  There 
was  a  strained,  almost  frightened  look  in  her  eyes ; 
a  low-voiced  "  Augustin  "  replacing  her  bantering 
"  Caesar."  Save  for  my  name  she  did  not  speak  as 
I  led  her  to  a  couch  and  sat  down  by  her  side.  She 
looked  slight,  girlish,  and  pathetic  in  a  simple  gown 
of  black ;  timidity  renewed  her  youth.  Well  might 
I  forget  that  she  was  not  a  maiden  of  meet  age  for 
me,  and  she  herself  for  an  instant  cheat  time's  reck- 
oning. She  made  of  me  a  man,  of  herself  a  girl, 
and  prayed  love's  advocacy  to  prove  the  delusion 
true. 

"  I  have  been  with  Wetter,"  said  I.  "  He  wants 
the  Embassy." 

I  fancy  that  she  knew  his  desire;  her  hand 
pressed  mine,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"  But  he  recommended  Max,"  I  went  on. 

"  Max !  "  For  a  moment  her  face  was  full  of 
terror  as  she  turned  to  me ;  then  she  broke  into  a 
smile.  Wetter's  advice  was  plain  to  her  also. 

"  You  see  how  much  he  wants  it  for  himself," 
said  I.  "  He  knows  I  would  sooner  send  a  gutter- 
boy  than  Max.  And  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  Do  I  ?  "  she  murmured. 

I  rose  and  stood  before  her. 

"  It  is  yours  to  give,  not  mine,"  said  I.  "  Do 
you  give  it  to  Wetter?" 

As  she  looked  up  at  me  her  eyes  rilled  with 
tears,  while  her  lips  curved  in  a  timid  smile. 

"  What — what  trouble  you'll  get  into !  "  she  said. 

"  It's  not  a  thousandth  part  of  what  I  would  do 
for  you.  Wetter  shall  have  it  then — or  Max  ?  " 


128  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  Not  Max,"  she  said ;  her  eyes  told  me  why  it 
should  not  be  Max. 

"  Then  Wetter,"  and  I  fell  on  one  knee  by  her, 
whispering,  "  The  King  gives  it  to  his  Queen." 

"  They'll  blame  you  so ;  they'll  say  all  sorts  of 
things." 

"  I  shan't  hear  them ;  I  hear  only  you." 

"  They'll  be  unkind  to  you." 

"  They  can't  hurt  me  if  you're  kind  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  they'll  say  I — I  got  it  from  you." 

"  I  am  not  ashamed.  What  is  it  to  me  what  they 
say?" 

"You  don't  care?" 

"  For  nothing  in  the  world  but  you  and  to  be 
with  you." 

She  sat  looking  up  at  me  for  an  instant ;  then  she 
threw  her  arm  over  the  end  of  the  sofa  and  laid  her 
face  on  the  cushion ;  I  heard  her  sob  softly.  Her 
other  hand  lay  in  her  lap ;  I  took  it  and  raised  it  to 
my  lips.  I  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  her  tears. 
I  was  triumphant.  She  sobbed,  not  loudly  or  vio- 
lently, but  with  a  pitiful  gentleness. 

"Why  do  you  cry  so,  darling?"  I  whispered. 

She  turned  her  face  to  me;  the  tears  were  run- 
ning down  her  cheeks.  "  Why  do  I  cry  ? "  she 
moaned  softly.  "  Because  I'm  wicked — I  suppose 
I'm  wicked — and  so  foolish.  And — and  you  are 
good,  and  noble,  and — and  you'll  be  great.  And  " — 
the  sobs  choked  her  voice,  and  she  turned  her  face 
half  away — "  and  I'm  old,  Augustin." 

I  could  not  enter  into  her  mood ;  joy  pervaded 
me ;  but  neither  did  I  scorn  her  nor  grow  impatient. 
I  perceived  dimly  that  she  struggled  with  a  conflict 
of  emotions  beyond  my  understanding.  Words  were 
unsafe,  likely  to  be  wrong,  to  make  worse  what  they 


AN   ACT    OF   ABDICATION. 


I29 


sought  to  cure.  I  caressed  her,  but  trusted  my 
tongue  no  further  than  to  murmur  endearments.  She 
grew  calmer,  sat  up,  and  dried  her  eyes. 

"  But  it's  so  absurd,"  she  protested.  "  Augustin, 
lots  of  boys  are  just  as  absurd  as  you ;  but  was  any 
woman  ever  as  absurd  as  I  am  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  call  it  absurd?  " 

"  Oh,  because,  because  " — she  moved  near  me 
suddenly — "  because,  although  I've  tried  so  hard,  I 
can't  feel  it  the  least  absurd.  I  do  love  you." 

Here  was  her  prepossession  all  the  while — that 
the  thing  would  seem  absurd,  not  that  there  was 
sin  in  it.  I  can  see  now  why  her  mind  fixed  on  this 
point;  she  was,  in  truth,  speaking  not  to  me  who 
was  there  by  her,  me  as  I  was,  but  to  the  man  who 
should  be;  she  pleaded  not  only  with  herself,  but 
with  my  future  self,  praying  the  mature  man  to  think 
of  her  with  tenderness  and  not  with  a  laugh,  inter- 
ceding with  what  should  one  day  be  my  memory  of 
her.  Ah,  my  dear,  that  prayer  of  yours  is  answered ! 
I  do  not  laugh  as  I  write.  At  you  I  could  never 
have  laughed ;  and  if  I  set  out  to  force  a  laugh  even 
at  myself  I  fall  to  thinking  of  what  you  were, 
and  again  I  do  not  laugh.  Then  what  is  it  that  the 
world  outside  must  have  laughed  with  a  very  self- 
conscious  wisdom?  Its  laughter  was  nothing  to 
us  then,  and  to-day  is  to  me  as  nothing.  Is  it  not 
always  ready  to  weep  at  a  farce  and  laugh  at  a 
tragedy  ? 

"  But  you've  nobody  else,"  she  went  on  softly. 
"  I  shouldn't  have  dared  if  you'd  had  anybody  else. 
Long  ago — do  you  remember? — you  had  nobody, 
and  you  liked  me  to  kiss  you.  I  believe  I  began 
to  love  you  then ;  I  mean  I  began  to  think  how 
much  some  woman  would  love  you  some  day.  But 


1 3o 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


I  didn't  think  I  should  be  the  woman.  Oh,  don't 
look  at  me  so  hard,  or — or  you'll  see " 

"  How  much  you  love  me?  " 

"  No,  no.  You'll  see  my  wrinkles.  See,  if  I  do 
this  you  can't  look  at  my  face."  And  putting  her 
arms  round  my  neck  she  hid  her  face. 

I  was  strangely  tongue-tied,  or,  perhaps,  not 
strangely ;  for  there  comes  a  time  when  the  eyes  say 
all  that  there  is  desire  or  need  to  say.  Her  plead- 
ings were  in  answer  to  my  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  think  so  now !  "  she  murmured. 
"  But  you  won't  go  on  thinking  so — and  I  shall." 
She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  me ;  now  a  smile 
of  triumph  came  on  her  face.  "  Oh,  but  you  do  think 
so  now !  "  she  whispered  in  a  voice  still  lower,  but 
full  of  delight.  "  You  do  think  so  now,"  and  again 
she  hid  her  face  from  me.  But  I  knew  that  the  tri- 
umph had  entered  into  her  soul  also,  and  that  the 
shadows  could  no  longer  altogether  dim  its  sunshine 
for  her. 

The  afternoon  became  full,  and  waned  to  dusk 
as  we  sat  together.  We  said  little ;  there  were  no 
arrangements  made ;  we  seemed  in  a  way  cut  off 
from  the  world  outside,  and  from  the  consideration 
of  it.  The  life  which  we  must  each  lead,  lives  in  the 
main  apart  from  one  another,  had  receded  into  dis- 
tance, and  went  unnoticed;  we  had  nothing  to  do 
save  to  be  together ;  when  we  were  together  there 
was  little  that  we  cared  to  say,  no  protestations  that 
we  had  need  to  make.  There  was  between  us  so  ab- 
solute a  sympathy,  so  full  an  agreement  in  all  that 
we  gave,  all  that  we  accepted,  all  that  we  abandoned. 
Doubts  and  struggles  were  as  though  they  had  never 
been.  There  is  a  temptation  to  think  sometimes  that 
things  so  perfectly  justify  themselves  that  conscience 


AN   ACT   OF   ABDICATION.  j^i 

is  not  discrowned  by  violence,  but  signs  a  willing 
abdication,  herself  convinced.  For  passion  can  simu- 
late right,  even  as  in  some  natures  the  love  of  right 
becomes  a  turbulent  passion  in  the  end,  like  most  of 
such,  destructive  of  itself. 

"  Then  I  am  yours,  and  you  are  mine  ?  And  the 
Embassy  is  Wetter's?  " 

"  The  Embassy  is  whose  you  like,"  she  cried, 
"  if  the  rest  is  true." 

"It  is  Wetter's.  Do  you  know  why?  That 
everybody  may  know  how  I  am  yours." 

She  did  not  refuse  even  the  perilous  fame  I  of- 
fered. 

"  I  should  be  proud  of  it,"  she  said,  with  head 
erect. 

"  No,  no ;  nobody  shall  breathe  a  letter  of  your 
name,"  I  exclaimed  in  a  sudden  turn  of  feeling.  "  I 
will  swear  that  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  that 
you  hate  him,  that  you  never  mentioned  it." 

"  Say  what  you  like,"  she  whispered. 

"  If  I  did  that,  I  should  say  to  all  Forstadt  that 
there's  no  woman  in  the  world  like  you." 

"  You  needn't  say  it  to  all  Forstadt.  You  haven't 
even  said  it  to  me  yet." 

We  had  been  sitting  together.  Again  I  fell  on 
one  knee,  prepared  to  offer  her  formal  homage  in  a 
sweet  extravagance.  On  a  sudden  she  raised  her 
hand ;  her  face  grew  alarmed. 

"  Hark !  "  she  said.     "  Hark  !  " 

"  To  your  voice,  yours  only !  " 

"  No.  There  is  a  noise.  Somebody  is  coming. 
Who  can  it  be?" 

"  I  don't  care  who  it  is." 

"  Why,  dearest !  But  you  must  care.  Get  up, 
get  up,  get  up  !  " 


!32  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

I  rose  slowly  to  my  feet.  I  was  indeed  in  a  mood 
when  I  did  not  care.  The  steps  were  close  outside. 
Before  they  could  come  nearer,  I  kissed  her  again. 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  I  am  denied  to  everybody," 
she  said,  bewildered. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  It  is  not  Max,"  she  said,  with  a  swift  glance  at 
me.  I  stood  where  I  was.  "  Come  in,"  she  cried. 

The  door  opened,  and  to  my  amazement  Wetter 
stood  there.  He  was  panting,  as  though  he  had  run 
fast,  and  his  air  displayed  agitation.  The  Countess 
ran  to  him  instantly.  His  coming  seemed  to  revive 
the  fears  which  her  love  had  laid  to  rest. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  cried.    "  What's  the  matter?  " 

Wetter  took  absolutely  no  notice  of  her.  Walk- 
ing on  as  though  she  were  not  there,  he  came  straight 
up  to  me.  He  spoke  in  tones  of  intense  emotion, 
and  with  the  bluntness  that  excitement  brings. 

"  You  must  come  with  me  at  once,"  he  said  in  an 
imperious  way.  ''  They've  sent  for  you  to  my  house ; 
we  can  get  in  together  by  the  back  door." 

"  But  what's  the  matter,  man  ?  "  I  cried,  divided 
between  puzzle  and  anger. 

"  You're  wanted ;  you  must  go  to  Hammer- 
feldt's." 

"To  Hammerfeldt's?" 

"  Yes.     He's  dying.     Come  along." 

"Dying!    My  God!" 

"  The  message  is  urgent.  There's  no  time  to  lose. 
If  you  want  to  see  him  alive,  come.  I  said  you  were 
lying  down  in  my  study.  If  you  don't  come  quickly, 
it  will  be  known  where  you  are." 

"  I  don't  care  for  that." 

"  He's  sent  for  you  himself." 

The  Countess  had  moved  to  my  side. 


AN   ACT   OF   ABDICATION. 


133 


"  You  must  go,"  she  said  now,  laying  her  hand 
on  my  arm. 

I  turned  to  look  at  her.  Her  eyes  were  full  of 
a  vague  alarm.  I  was  like  a  man  suddenly  roused 
half-way  through  a  vivid  entrancing  dream,  unable 
still  to  believe  that  the  real  is  true  and  the  phantasm 
not  the  only  substance. 

"  Come,  come,"  repeated  Wetter  urgently  and 
irritably.  "  You  can't  let  him  die  without  going  to 
him." 

"  Go,  Augustin,"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes,  I'll  go.  I'm  going;  I'm  going  at  once," 
I  stammered.  "  I'm  ready,  Wetter.  Take  me  with 
you.  Is  he  really  dying?" 

"  So  they  say." 

"  Hammerfeldt  dying !  Yes,  I'll  come  with 
you." 

I  turned  to  the  Countess ;  Wetter  was  already 
half-way  to  the  door.  He  looked  back  over  his 
shoulder,  and  his  face  was  impatient.  My  eyes  met 
hers,  I  read  the  fear  that  was  in  hers.  I  was  strangely 
fearful  myself,  appalled  at  such  a  breaking  of  our 
dream. 

"  Good-bye,"  I  said.  "  I'll  come  again  soon ;  to- 
morrow, some  time  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  she,  but  hardly  as  though  she 
believed  me. 

"  Good-bye."  I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it ; 
Wetter  looked  on,  saying  nothing.  The  thought  of 
concealment  did  not  occur  to  me.  I  kissed  her  hand 
two  or  three  times. 

"Shall  you  find  him  alive?"  she  murmured,  in 
speculation  more  than  in  question. 

"  I  don't  know.     Good-bye." 

She  herself  led  me  to  where  Wetter  was  standing. 


134  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  It's  his  breathing,"  said  Wetter.  "  He  can't  get 
his  breath ;  can't  speak  at  all.  Come  along." 

"I'm  ready;  I'll  follow  you." 

As  I  reached  the  door  I  turned.  She  was  not 
looking  at  me;  she  had  sat  down  in  a  chair  by  the 
fire  and  was  gazing  fixedly  at  the  flames.  I  have 
had  that  picture  of  her  often  in  my  mind. 

Wetter  led  me  downstairs  and  out  into  the  street 
at  a  rapid  pace.  I  followed  him,  trying  to  gather  my- 
self together  and  think  coherently.  Too  sudden  a 
change  paralyzes ;  the  mind  must  have  time  for 
readjustment.  Hammerfeldt  was  and  had  always 
been  so  large  a  figure  and  a  presence  so  impor- 
tant in  my  life ;  I  could  only  whisper  to  myself, 
"He's  dying;  it's  his  breathing;  he  can't  get  his 
breath." 

We  went  in  by  the  back  door  as  we  had  arranged, 
and  gained  the  study. 

"  Quick  !  "  whispered  Wetter.  "  Remember  you 
were  in  here.  Don't  make  any  excuses  about  delay. 
Or  put  it  on  me ;  say  I  hesitated  to  rouse  you." 

I  listened  little  to  all  that  he  said,  and  paid 
small  heed  to  the  precautions  that  his  wariness  sug- 
gested. 

"  I  hope  he  won't  be  dead  when  you  get  there," 
he  added  as  we  started  for  the  hall.  "  Here's  your 
hat." 

I  caught  at  the  word  "  dead." 

"  If  he's  dead "  I  repeated  aimlessly.  "  If  he's 

dead,  Wetter- 
Then  for  an  instant  he  turned  to  me,  his  face  full 
of  expression,  his  eyes  keen  and  eager.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"  He's  an  old  man,"  said  he.  "  We  must  all  die. 
And  if  he's  dead " 


AN   ACT   OF   ABDICATION. 


135 


"Well,  Wetter,  well?" 

"  Well,  then  you're  king  at  last." 

With  this  he  opened  the  door  of  my  carriage  and 
stood  holding  it.  I  looked  him  full  in  the  face  be- 
fore I  stepped  in.  He  did  not  flinch ;  he  nodded  his 
head  and  smiled. 

"  You're  king  at  last,"  he  seemed  to  say  again. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

KING    AT    A    PRICE. 

THE  death  of  Prince  von  Hammerfeldt  furnished 
the  subject  of  a  picture  exhibited  at  Forstadt  with 
great  success  a  few  years  ago.  The  old  man's  sim- 
ple room,  its  plain  furniture,  the  large  window  facing 
the  garden,  were  faithfully  given ;  the  bed  was  his 
bed  and  no  other  bed ;  the  nurses  were  portraits,  the 
doctors  were  portraits,  the  Prince's  features  were  ex- 
actly mapped ;  I  myself  was  represented  sitting  in 
an  armchair  by  his  side,  with  a  strong  light  on  my 
face  as  I  leaned  forward  to  catch  his  faint  words. 
The  artist's  performance  was,  in  fact,  a  singularly 
competent  reproduction  of  every  external  object, 
human  or  other,  in  the  room  ;  and  with  the  necessary 
alteration  of  features  and  title  the  picture  would 
have  served  to  commemorate  the  death-bed  of  any 
aged  statesman  who  had  a  young  prince  for  his 
pupil.  Hammerfeldt  is  evidently  giving  a  brief  sum- 
mary of  his  principles,  providing  me  with  a  vadc 
mecum  of  kingship,  a  manual  on  the  management  of 
men.  I  listen  with  an  expression  of  deep  attention 
and  respectful  grief.  By  a  touch  which  no  doubt 
is  dramatic,  the  other  figures  are  gazing  intently  at 
me,  on  whom  the  future  depends,  not  at  the  dying 
man  whose  course  is  run.  Looking  at  the  work  as 
a  whole,  I  am  not  in  the  least  surprised  that  I  was 
136 


KING  AT   A   PRICE. 


137 


recommended  to  bestow  the  Cross  of  St.  Paul  on  the 
painter.  I  consented  without  demur.  In  mere  mat- 
ters of  taste  I  have  always  considered  myself  bound 
to  reflect  public  opinion. 

Now  for  reality.  An  old  man  struggling  hard 
for  breath ;  gasps  now  quicker,  now  slower ;  a  few 
words  half-formed,  choked,  unintelligible;  eyes  that 
were  full  of  an  impotent  desire  to  speak ;  these  came 
first.  Then  the  doctors  gathered  round,  looked, 
whispered,  went  away.  I  rose  and  walked  twice 
across  the  room ;  coming  back,  I  stood  and  looked 
at  him.  Still  he  knew  me.  Suddenly  his  hand  moved 
toward  me.  I  bent  my  head  till  my  ear  was  within 
three  inches  of  his  lips ;  I  could  hear  nothing.  I 
saw  a  doctor  standing  by,  watch  in  hand ;  he  was 
timing  the  breath  that  grew  slower  and  slower. 
"Will  he  speak?"  I  asked  in  a  whisper;  a  shake 
of  the  head  answered  me.  I  looked  again  into  his 
eyes ;  now  he  seemed  to  speak  to  me.  My  face  grew 
hot  and  red ;  but  I  did  not  speak  to  him.  Yet  I 
stroked  his  hand,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of  under- 
standing in  his  eyes.  A  moment  later  his  eyes  closed ; 
the  gasps  became  slower  and  slower.  I  raised  my 
head  and  looked  across  at  the  doctor.  His  watch 
had  a  gold  front  protecting  the  glass ;  he  shut  the 
front  on  the  face  with  a  click. 

Very  likely  there  were  no  proper  materials  for  a 
picture  here;  the  sentiment,  the  historical  interest, 
the  situation  would  all  have  been  defective.  Men  die 
in  so  very  much  the  same  way,  and  in  so  very  much 
the  same  way  men  watch  them  dying.  Death  is  the 
triumph  of  the  physical.  I  must  not  complain  that 
the  painter  imported  some  sentiment. 

In  twenty  minutes  I  was  back  again  in  my  car- 
nage, being  driven  home  rapidly.  My  dinner  was 


138  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

ready  and  Baptiste  in  attendance.  "Ah,  he  is  dead?  " 
said  Baptiste,  as  he  fashioned  my  napkin  into  a  more 
perfect  shape. 

"  Yes,  Baptiste,  he's  dead,"  said  I.  "  Bring  me 
some  slippers." 

"Your  Majesty  will  not  dress?" 

"  A  smoking  jacket,"  said  I. 

While  I  ate  my  dinner  Baptiste  chattered  about 
the  Prince.  There  was  a  kindly  humanity  in  the  man 
that  gave  a  whimsical  tenderness  to  what  he  said. 

"  Ah,  now,  M.  le  Prince  knew  the  world  well. 
And  where  is  he  gone?  Well,  at  least  he  will  not 
be  disappointed !  To  die  at  eighty !  It  is  only  to 
go  to  bed  when  one  is  tired.  What  use  would  there 
be  in  sitting  up  with  heavy  eyes?  That  is  to  bore 
yourself  and  the  company." 

"  Has  the  Princess  expressed  a  wish  to  see  me?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Certainly,  sire,  at  your  leisure.  I  said,  '  But 
his  Majesty  must  dine/  The  Princess  is  much  upset 
it  seems.  She  was  greatly  attached  to  the  Prince." 
He  looked  at  me  shrewdly.  "  She  valued  the  Prince 
very  highly,"  he  added,  as  though  in  correction  of 
his  previous  statement. 

"  I'll  go  directly  I've  done  dinner.  Send  and 
say  so." 

I  was  not  surprised  that  consternation  reigned 
in  the  heart  of  my  mother  and  extended  its  sway 
to  Victoria.  Victoria  was  crying,  Princess  Hein- 
rich's  eyes  were  dry,  but  her  lips  set  in  a  despairing 
closeness.  Both  invited  me  to  kiss  them. 

"  What  will  you  do  without  him  ?  "  asked  Vic- 
toria, dabbing  her  eyes. 

"  You  have  lost  your  best,  your  only  guide,"  said 
my  mother. 


KING  AT   A   PRICE. 


139 


I  told  them  what  I  had  to  tell  about  Hammer- 
feldt's  death.  Victoria  broke  into  compassionate 
comments,  my  mother  listened  in  silence. 

"Poor  old  Hammerfeldt ! "  I  ended  reflect- 
ively. 

"  Where  were  you  when  you  got  the  news  ? " 
asked  Victoria. 

I  looked  at  her.    Then  I  answered  quietly : 

"  I  was  calling  on  the  Countess  von  Sempach.  I 
lunched  with  Wetter  and  went  on  there." 

There  was  a  pause.  I  believe  that  my  candour 
was  a  surprise ;  perhaps  it  seemed  a  defiance. 

"  Did  you  tell  the  Prince  that  ? "  my  mother 
asked. 

•  "  The  Prince,"  I  answered,  "  was  not  in  a  state 
to  listen  to  anything  that  I  might  have  said,  not  even 
to  anything  of  importance." 

"  Fancy  if  he'd  known !  On  his  death-bed !  "  was 
Victoria's  very  audible  whisper. 

My  mother  looked  at  me  with  a  despairing  ex- 
pression. I  am  unwilling  to  do  either  her  or  my 
sister  an  injustice,  but  I  wondered  then  how  much 
thought  they  were  giving  to  the  old  friend  we  had 
lost.  It  seemed  to  me  that  they  thought  little  of 
the  man  we  knew,  the  man  himself;  not  grief, 
but  fear  was  dominant  in  them.  Wetter's  saying, 
"  You're  king  at  last,"  came  into  my  mind.  Perhaps 
their  mood  was  intelligible  enough  and  did  not  want 
excuse.  They  had  seen  in  Hammerfeldt  my  school- 
master; his  hand  was  gone,  and  could  no  longer 
guide  or  restrain  me.  To  one  a  son,  to  the  other 
a  younger  brother,  by  both  I  was  counted  incapable 
of  standing  alone  or  choosing  my  own  path.  Ham- 
merfeldt was  gone;  Wetter  remained;  the  Countess 
von  Sempach  remained.  There  was  the  new  posi- 


140  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

tion.  The  Prince's  death  then  might  well  be  to  them 
so  great  a  calamity  as  to  lose  its  rank  among  sor- 
rows, regrets  for  the  past  be  ousted  by  terror  for  the 
future,  and  the  loss  of  an  ally  obliterate  grief  for  a 
friend. 

"  But  you  know  his  wishes  and  his  views,"  said 
my  mother.  "  I  hope  that  they  will  have  an  increased 
sacredness  for  you  now." 

"  He  may  be  looking  down  on  you  from  heaven," 
added  Victoria,  folding  her  handkerchief  so  as  to 
get  a  dry  part  uppermost. 

I  could  not  resist  this  provocation :  I  smiled. 

"  If  it  is  so,  Victoria,"  I  remarked,  "  nobody  will 
be  more  surprised  than  the  Prince  himself." 

Victoria  was  very  much  offended.  She  conceived 
herself  to  have  added  an  effective  touch :  I  ridiculed 
her. 

"  You  might  at  least  pretend  to  have  a  little  de- 
cent feeling,"  she  cried. 

"  Come,  come,  my  dear,  don't  let's  squabble  over 
him  before  he's  cold,"  said  I,  rising.  "  Have  you 
anything  else  to  say  to  me,  mother?  " 

At  this  instant  my  brother-in-law  entered.  He 
smelt  very  strongly  of  tobacco,  but  wore  an  expres- 
sion of  premeditated  misery.  He  came  up  to  me, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  I. 

"  Poor  Hammerfeldt !  "  he  murmured.  "  Poor 
Hammerfeldt!  What  a  blow!  How  lost  you  must 
feel !  " 

He  had  been  talking  over  the  matter  with  Vic- 
toria. That  was  beyond  doubt. 

"  I  happen  to  have  been  thinking,"  I  rejoined, 
"  more  of  him  than  of  myself." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  muttered  William  Adol- 


KING  AT   A   PRICE.  14! 

phus  in  some  confusion,  and  (as  I  thought)  with  a 
reproachful  glance  at  his  wife. 

"  We  have  lost  the  Prince,"  said  my  mother, 
"  but  we  can  still  be  guided  by  his  example  and 
his  principles.  To  follow  his  counsels  will  be  the 
best  monument  you  can  raise  to  his  memory,  Au- 
gustin." 

I  kissed  her  hand  and  then  she  gave  me  her  cheek. 
Going  to  Victoria,  I  saluted  her  with  brotherly 
heartiness.  I  never  allowed  myself  to  forget  that 
Victoria  was  very  fond  of  me,  and  I  never  lost  my 
affection  for  her. 

"  Now  don't  be  foolish,  Augustin,"  she  implored. 

"  What  is  being  foolish  ?  "  I  asked  perversely. 

"  Oh,  you  know !  You  know  very  well  what  peo- 
ple say,  and  so  do  I." 

"  And  poor  old  Hammerfeldt  in  heaven — does  he 
know  too  ?  " 

She  turned  away  with  a  shocked  expression.  Wil- 
liam Adolphus  hid  a  sheepish  smile  with  a  large 
hand.  In  the  lower  ranges  of  humour  William  Adol- 
phus sometimes  understood  one.  I  declined  his  offer 
of  company  over  a  cigar,  but  bade  him  good-night 
with  a  mild  gratitude ;  he  desired  to  be  pleasant  to 
us  all,  and  the  realization  of  his  ambition  presented 
difficulties. 

I  was  very  tired  and  fell  into  a  deep  sleep  almost 
the  moment  I  was  in  bed.  At  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  I  awoke.  My  fatigue  seemed  gone;  I  did 
not  think  of  sleeping  again.  The  events  of  the  day 
before  came  back  to  me  with  an  extraordinary  vivid- 
ness of  impression,  the  outcome  of  nerves  strained  to 
an  unhealthy  sensitiveness.  It  would  have  needed 
but  a  little  self-delusion,  a  little  yielding  to  the  cur- 
rent of  my  thoughts,  to  make  me  see  Hammerfeldt 


142  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

by  my  bed.  The  Countess  and  Wetter  were  in  men- 
tal image  no  less  plain.  I  rose  and  pulled  up  the 
blinds;  the  night  had  begun  to  pass  from  black  to 
gray ;  for  a  moment  I  pictured  the  Prince,  not  look- 
ing down  from  heaven,  but  wandering  somewhere 
in  such  a  dim  cold  twilight.  The  message  that  his 
eyes  had  given  me  became  very  clear  to  me.  It  had 
turned  my  cheek  red ;  it  sent  an  excitement  through 
me  now.  It  would  not  go  easily  into  words,  but, 
as  I  sought  to  frame  it,  that  other  speech  came  back 
to  me — the  speech  of  the  Prince's  enemy.  Wetter 
had  said,  "You're  king  at  last."  What  else  had 
Hammerfeldt  meant  to  say?  Nothing  else.  That 
was  his  message  also.  From  both  it  came,  the  same 
reminder,  the  same  exhortation.  The  living  man  and 
the  dead  joined  their  voices  in  this  brief  appeal.  It 
did  not  need  my  mother's  despair  or  Victoria's  petu- 
lance to  lend  it  point.  I  was  amazed  to  find  how 
it  came  home  to  me.  Now  I  perceived  how,  up  to 
this  time,  my  life  had  been  centred  in  Hammerfeldt. 
I  was  obeying  him  or  disobeying,  accepting  his  views 
or  questioning  them,  docile  or  rebellious ;  when  I 
rebelled,  I  rebelled  for  the  pleasure  of  it,  for  the  ex- 
citement it  gave,  the  spice  of  daring,  the  air  of  in- 
dependence, for  curiosity,  to  see  how  he  would  take 
it,  what  saying  he  would  utter,  what  resource  of  per- 
suasion or  argument  he  would  invoke.  It  was 
strange  to  think  that  now  if  I  obeyed  I  should  not 
gratify,  if  I  disobeyed  I  could  make  him  uneasy  no 
more.  If  I  went  right,  there  was  none  to  reap  credit ; 
if  I  went  wrong,  none  who  should  have  controlled 
me  better ;  none  to  say,  "  You  are  wise,  sire  "  ;  none 
to  smile  as  he  said,  "  We  must  all  learn  wisdom, 
sire."  It  was  very  strange  to  be  without  old  Ham- 
merfeldt. 


KING  AT   A   PRICE. 


143 


"  You're  king  at  last."  By  Wetter's  verdict 
and  by  the  Prince's  own,  his  death  made  me  in  very 
truth  king.  So  they  said;  what  did  they  think? 
Wetter's  thought  was,  "  Here  is  a  king,  a  king  to 
be  shaped  and  used."  I  read  Wetter's  thought  well 
enough.  But  the  old  man's  ?  His  was  a  plea,  a 
hope,  a  prayer.  "  Be  king."  A  sudden  flash  of  feel- 
ing came  upon  me — too  late !  For  I  had  gone  to 
his  bedside  fresh  from  signing  my  abdication.  It 
mattered  nothing  at  whose  bidding  or  with  what 
eager  obedience  I  had  taken  off  the  crown.  My 
sovereignty  was  my  possession  and  my  trust.  I  had 
laid  it  down.  In  those  dim  hours  of  the  night,  when 
men  die  (so  they  say),  passion  is  cold,  the  blood 
chill,  and  we  fall  prey  to  the  cruelties  of  truth,  then 
I  knew  to  what  I  had  put  my  hand,  why  Wetter 
exulted,  why  Hammerfeldt's  eyes  spoke  one  un- 
spoken prayer.  It  was  not  that  Wetter  went  Am- 
bassador, but  that  he  went  not  of  my  will,  by  my 
act,  or  out  of  my  mind ;  he  went  by  another's 
will,  that  other  on  whose  head  I  had  put  my 
crown. 

Strange  thoughts  for  a  man  not  yet  grown?  I 
am  not  altogether  of  that  mind.  For  then  my  trust 
seemed  very  great,  almost  holy,  armed  with  majesty ; 
I  had  not  learned  the  little  real  power  that  lay  in  it. 
To-day,  if  I  threw  away  my  crown,  I  should  not  ex- 
aggerate the  value  of  my  sacrifice.  Then  it  seemed 
that  I  gave  a  great  thing,  and  great  was  my  betrayal. 
Therefore  I  could  not  rest  for  the  thought  of  what 
I  had  put  my  hand  to,  chafed  at  Wetter's  words  that 
sounded  now  like  a  taunt,  and  seemed  again  to  see 
old  Hammerfeldt  dying  and  to  flush  red  in  shame 
before  the  utterance  of  his  eyes.  The  Prince  had 
served  his  masters,  his  country,  and  the  cause  that 


144 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


he  held  right.  Wetter,  if  he  served  himself,  served 
his  principles  also.  What  and  whom  did  I  serve 
in  this  thing  that  I  was  about  to  do?  I  could  an- 
swer only  that  I  served  her  whose  image  rose  now 
before  me.  But  when  I  turned  to  her  for  comfort 
she  accused,  and  did  not  delight. 

I  am  aware  that  my  feelings  will  probably  ap- 
pear exaggerated  to  those  not  brought  up  in  the 
habit  of  thought  nor  subjected  to  the  influences 
which  had  ruled  my  mind.  I  give  them  for  what 
they  are  worth.  At  this  moment  the  effect  of  the 
contrast  between  my  position  and  my  desires  was  a 
struggle  of  peculiar  severity — one  of  the  battles  of 
my  life. 

Irony  was  not  to  be  wanting,  comedy  claimed  her 
accustomed  share.  The  interview  which  I  have  al- 
ready set  down  might  seem  enough  to  have  satisfied 
my  sister.  !t  was  not ;  after  I  had  breakfasted  Vic- 
toria sent  William  Adolphus  to  me.  I  am  inclined 
now  and  then  to  think  that  there  is,  after  all,  some- 
thing mystic  in  the  status  of  husbandhood,  some 
supernatural  endowment  that  in  the  wife's  eyes  at- 
taches to  her  own  man,  however  little  she  values 
him,  at  however  low  a  rate  she  sets  his  natural  quali- 
ties. How  otherwise  could  Victoria  (whose  defect 
was  more  in  temper  than  in  perception)  send  Wil- 
liam Adolphus  to  talk  to  me? 

He  came ;  the  role  of  the  man  of  the  world  was 
his  choice.  "  I'm  a  bit  older  than  you,  you  know," 
he  began ;  then  he  laughed,  and  said  that  women 
were  all  very  well  in  their  places.  I  must  not  sup- 
pose that  he  was  a  Puritan.  Heavens,  I  supposed 
nothing  about  him !  I  knew  he  was  a  fool,  and 
rested  in  that  sufficient  knowledge.  The  Countess, 
he  said,  was  a  damned  pretty  woman.  "  We  shan't 


KING  AT   A   PRICE. 


145 


quarrel  about  that,  anyhow,"  he  added,  with  the  sort 
of  laugh  that  I  had  so  often  seen  poor  old  Hammer- 

feldt  wince  at.  But  come  now,  did  I  mean  to ? 

Well,  I  knew  what  he  meant,  didn't  I  ? 

"  My  dear  William  Adolphus,"  said  I,  "  I  am  so 
infinitely  obliged  to  you.  You  have  made  me  see 
the  matter  in  quite  a  new  light.  It's  surprising  what 
a  talk  with  a  man  of  the  world  does  for  one.  I  am 
very  young,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  you'll  learn.  You're  no  fool,"  said  Wil- 
liam Adolphus. 

"  I  suppose  Victoria  doesn't  know  you've 
come?  " 

He  turned  rather  red,  and,  like  a  fool,  lied  where 
he  need  not,  out  of  pride,  not  policy. 

"  No ;  I  came  off  my  own  bat,"  he  answered. 

"  You  have  done  me  a  great  service." 

"  My  dear  fellow !  "  beamed  he  with  the  broadest 
of  smiles.  "  Now  Hammerfeldt's  gone,  I  thought  a 
friendly  word  or  two  would  not  come  amiss." 

Hammerfeldt  was  dead ;  now  came  William  Adol- 
phus. //  n'y  a  pas  d'homme  necessaire. 

"  Of  course  you  can  do  nothing  abrupt,"  he 
continued.  "  But  I  should  think  you  might  grad- 
ually  " 

"  I  understand  you  absolutely,"  said  I,  rising  to 
my  feet. 

"  What  I  mean  is " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  not  another  word  is  needed." 

"  You  don't  mind  if  I  mention  to  Victoria  that 
I  have ?" 

"  Put  it  in  the  evening  papers,  if  you  like," 
said  I. 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  he  laughed.  "  That  wouldn't  be  a 
bad  joke,  would  it  ?  " 


146  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

What  a  man!  With  his  little  bit  of  stock  wis- 
dom, "  You  can  do  nothing  abruptly  "  !  Nothing 
abruptly !  I  must  not  check  myself  abruptly  on  the 
edge  of  the  precipice,  but  go  quietly  down  half-way 
to  the  gulf,  and  then  come  up  again !  If  I  were  ever 
to  do  anything,  it  must  be  done  abruptly — now,  to- 
day; while  the  strength  was  on  me,  while  there  was 
still  a  force,  fresh  and  vigorous,  to  match  the  other 
great  force  that  drew  me  on.  And  across  this  con- 
siousness  came  a  queer  little  remorse  for  not  having 
rescued  Victoria  from  this  husband  whom  she  sent 
to  teach  me.  When  Baptiste  brought  me  lunch  I 
was  laughing. 

That  afternoon  the  thought  of  Geoffrey  Owen 
was  much  with  me.  Perhaps  I  summoned  it  first  in 
a  sort  of  appeal  against  Hammerfeldt.  But  I  knew 
in  my  heart  that  the  two  could  not  be  antagonists 
here.  Geoffrey  would  wish  me  to  show  favour,  or 
at  least  impartiality,  toward  Liberal  opinions  ;  for  the 
sake  of  such  a  manifestation  he  might  overlook  cer- 
tain objections  and  acquiesce  in  my  giving  the  Em- 
bassy to  Wetter.  But  with  what  face  would  he  hear 
an  honest  statement  of  the  case — that  Wetter  was  to 
have  the  Embassy  because  the  King  desired  to  please 
Countess  von,  Sempach  ?  I  smiled  drearily  as  I  im- 
agined his  incredulous  indignation.  No;  everybody 
was  against  me,  saints  and  sages,  Geoffrey  and  Ham- 
merfeldt, women  and  men ;  even  the  fools  gave  no 
countenance  to  my  folly.  William  Adolphus  thought 
that  I  might  gradually ! 

At  five  o'clock  I  sent  for  Wetter.  He  came  with 
remarkable  promptness.  He  was  visibly  excited,  and 
could  hardly  force  himself  to  spend  a  moment  on  the 
formal  and  proper  expressions  of  regret  for  the 
Prince's  death.  He  seemed  to  be  watching  me  closely 


KING  AT   A   PRICE. 

and  eagerly.  I  made  him  sit  down,  and  gave  him 
a  cigar.  I  had  meant  to  approach  the  matter  with  a 
diplomatic  deviousness.  I  had  overrated  my  skill 
and  self-control.  Wetter  made  me  feel  young  and 
awkward.  I  was  like  a  schoolboy  forced  to  confess 
the  neglect  of  his  task,  and  speaking  in  fear  of  the 
cane.  Ignoring  the  reserve  that  had  marked  our 
former  conversation,  I  blurted  out : 

"  I  can't  send  you  to  Paris." 

The  man's  face  went  white,  but  he  controlled 
himself. 

"  Your  Majesty  knows  that  I  did  not  ask  for  it," 
he  said  with  considerable  dignity. 

"  I  know ;  but  you  wanted  it." 

He  looked  straight  at  me;  he  was  very  pale. 

"  Truly,  yes,"  he  said.  "  I  wanted  it ;  since  your 
Majesty  is  plain,  I'll  be  plain  too." 

"  Why  did  you  want  it  ?  Why  are  you  pale, 
Wetter?" 

He  put  his  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  smoked  fierce- 
ly, but  did  not  answer. 

"  You  must  have  wanted  it,"  I  said,  "  or  you 
wouldn't  have  tried  to  get  it  in  that  way." 

"  My  God,  I  did  want  it." 

"Why?" 

"  If  I  can't  have  it,  what  matter?"  He  rose  to 
his  feet  and  bowed.  "  Good-bye,  sire,"  said  he. 
Then  he  gave  a  curious  laugh.  "Moriturus  te  saluto" 
he  added,  laughing  still. 

"  What's  the  matter,  man  ?  "  I  cried,  springing 
up  and  catching  him  by  the  arm. 

"  I  haven't  a  shilling  in  the  world ;  my  creditors 
are  in  full  chase;  I'm  posted  for  a  card  debt  at  the 
club.  If  I  had  this  I  could  borrow.  Good  God,  you 
promised  it  to  her !  " 


148 


THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 


"  Yes,  I  promised  it  to  her." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  again  ?  " 

"  No.     1  must." 

"  To  whom  will  you  give  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Not  to  you." 

"Why  not?" 

"  You're  not  fit  for  it." 

He  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  fore- 
head. 

"  I  was  no  more  fit  for  it  yesterday,"  he  said. 

"  I  won't  argue  it." 

"  As  you  please,  sire,"  said  he  with  a  shrug,  and 
he  seemed  to  pull  himself  together.  He  rose  and 
stood  before  me  with  a  smile  on  his  lips. 

I  sat  down,  took  a  piece  of  paper,  wrote  a  draft, 
leaving  the  amount  unstated,  and  pushed  it  across 
to  him.  He  looked  down  at  it  in  wonder.  Then  his 
face  lit  up  with  eagerness. 

"  You  mean — you  mean ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  My  ransom,"  said  I. 

"  Mine !  "  he  cried. 

"  No,  it  is  mine,  the  price  of  my  freedom." 

He  lifted  the  piece  of  paper  in  a  hand  that  trem- 
bled. 

"  It's  a  lot  of  money,"  he  said.  "  Eighty  or  ninety 
thousand  marks." 

"  My  name  is  good  for  that." 

He  looked  me  in  the  face,  opening  his  lips  but 
not  speaking.  Then  he  thrust  out  his  hand  to  me. 
I  took  it ;  I  was  as  much  moved  as  he. 

"  Don't  tempt  me  again,"  I  said. 

He  gripped  my  hand  hard  and  fiercely ;  when  he 
released  it  I  waved  it  toward  the  door.  I  could  trust 
myself  no  more.  He  turned  to  go ;  but  I  called  to 
him  again : 


"My  ransom,"  said  I.     "The  price  of  my  freedom." 


KING   AT   A   PRICE. 


149 


"  Don't  say  anything  to  her.     I  must  see  her." 

He  faced  me  with  an  agitated  look. 

"What  for?"  he  asked. 

I  made  him  no  answer,  but  lay  back  in  my  chair. 
He  came  toward  me  slowly  and  with  hesitation.  I 
looked  up  in  his  face. 

"  I'll  pay  you  back,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  want  the  money." 

"  And  I  don't  mean  the  money.  In  fact,  I'm 
bad  at  paying  money  back.  Why  have  you  done 
it?" 

"  I  have  done  it  for  myself,  not  for  you.  You 
owe  me  nothing.  My  honour  was  pawned,  and  I 
have  redeemed  it.  I  was  bound;  I  am  free." 

His  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  me  with  a  sort 
of  wonder,  but  I  motioned  him  again  to  the  door. 
He  obeyed  me  without  another  word ;  after  a  bow 
he  turned  and  went  out.  I  rose,  and  having  walked 
to  the  window,  looked  down  into  the  street.  I  saw 
him  crossing  the  roadway  with  a  slow  step  and  bent 
head.  He  was  going  toward  his  club,  not  to  his 
house.  I  stood  watching  him  till  he  turned  round 
a  corner  and  disappeared.  Then  I  drew  a  long 
breath  and  returned  to  my  chair.  I  had  hardly  seated 
myself  when  Baptiste  came  in  with  a  note.  It  was 
from  the  Countess.  "  Aren't  you  coming  to-day?" 
That  was  all. 

'  There  is  no  answer,"  I  said,  and  Baptiste 
left  me. 

For  I  must  carry  the  answer  myself;  and  the 
answer  must  be,  "  Yes,  to-day,  but  not  to-mor- 
row." 

There  was  doubtless  some  extravagance  in  my 
conception  of  the  situation,  and  I  have  not  sought 
to  conceal  or  modify  it.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


play  my  part  only  at  the  cost  of  what  was  dearest 
to  me  in  the  world.  Money  had  served  with  Wet- 
ter ;  it  would  not  serve  here.  My  heart  must  pay, 
my  heart  and  hers.  I  remember  that  I  sat  in  my 
chair  murmuring  again  and  again,  "  To-day,  but  not 
to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

I    PROMISE    NOT    TO    LAUGH. 

I  TAKE  it  that  generally  when  middle  age  looks 
back  on  the  emotions  of  youth  and  its  temptations, 
it  is  to  smile  at  the  wildness  of  the  first  and  to  marvel 
at  the  victories  of  the  second.  That  is  not  my  mood 
when  I  recall  the  relation  between  the  Countess  and 
myself.  For  sometimes,  while  passion  becomes  less 
fierce,  aspiration  grows  less  exalted.  The  man  who 
calls  most,  if  not  all,  things  vanity,  will  yield  to  de- 
sires which  some  high-strung  ideal  in  the  boy  would 
rout.  At  forty  the  feelings  are  not  so  strong  as  at 
twenty,  but  neither  are  the  ambitions,  the  dreams, 
the  conception  of  self.  It  is  easier  to  resist,  but  it 
may  not  seem  so  well  worth  while.  Thus  it  is  with 
me.  I  wonder  not  at  the  beginning  or  progress  of 
my  first  love,  but  at  the  manner  of  its  end,  asking 
myself  incredulously  what  motive  or  what  notion 
had  power  to  hold  back  the  flood  of  youth,  seeking 
almost  in  vain  to  re-discover  the  spring  that  moved 
me  then.  Yet,  though  I  can  not  feel  it  again,  I  know 
dimly  what  it  was,  that  high,  strange,  noble,  ludi- 
crous ideal  of  my  office  which  so  laid  hold  on  me 
as  to  scatter  passion's  forces  and  wrest  me  from  the 
arms  of  her  I  loved.  I  can  not  now  so  think  of  my 
kingship,  so  magnify  its  claim,  or  conceive  that  it 
matters  so  greatly  to  the  world  how  I  hold  it  or 


!$2  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

what  manner  of  man  I  show  myself.  I  come  to  the 
conclusion  (though  it  may  seem  to  border  on  para- 
dox) that  in  a  like  case  I  could  not,  or  should  not, 
do  now  what  I  did  then.  I  suppose  that  it  is  some 
such  process  as  this,  a  weakening  of  emotion  parallel 
with  a  lowering  of  ideal,  that  makes  us,  as  we  grow 
older,  think  ourselves  so  much  wiser  and  know  our- 
selves to  be  so  little  better. 

I  had  charged  Wetter  to  say  nothing  to  the 
Countess,  but  he  disobeyed  me.  He  had  been  to  her 
and  told  her  all  that  passed  between  us.  I  knew 
this  the  moment  I  entered  her  room.  Her  agitated 
nervous  air  showed  me  that  she  had  been  informed 
of  the  withdrawal  of  my  gift,  was  aware  that  the 
Embassy  was  no  longer  hers  to  give  to  Wetter  or 
another,  and  was  wondering  helplessly  what  the 
meaning  of  the  change  might  be.  To  her,  as  to 
Wetter,  the  death  of  Hammerfeldt  must  have  seemed 
the  removal  of  an  impediment ;  only  through  the 
curious  processes  of  my  own  mind  did  it  raise  an 
obstacle  insurmountable.  She  had  liked  the  Prince, 
but  feared  him ;  she  imagined  my  feelings  to  have 
been  the  same,  and  perhaps  in  his  lifetime  they 
were.  Then  should  not  I,  who  had  been  brought 
to  defy  him  living,  more  readily  disregard  him 
dead? 

But  against  her  knowledge  of  me  and  her  quick 
wit  no  preconception  could  hold  out  long.  She  was 
by  me  in  a  moment,  asking: 

"  What  has  happened  ?  What's  wrong,  Angus- 
tin?" 

I  had  pictured  myself  describing  to  her  what  I 
felt,  making  her  understand,  sympathize,  and,  even 
while  she  grieved,  approve.  The  notion  was  so 
strong  in  me  that  I  did  not  doubt  of  finding  words 


I   PROMISE   NOT   TO   LAUGH. 


153 


for  it — words  eloquent  of  its  force  and  dignity.  But 
before  her  simple  impulsive  question  I  was  dumb. 
A  wave  of  shyness  swept  over  me ;  not  even  to  her 
could  I  divulge  my  thoughts,  not  even  from  her  risk 
the  smile  of  ridicule  or  the  blankness  of  non-appre- 
hension. I  became  wretchedly  certain  that  I  should 
be  only  absurd  and  priggish,  that  she  would  not  be- 
lieve me,  would  see  only  excuse  and  hypocrisy  in 
what  I  said.  It  was  so  difficult  also  not  to  seem  to 
accuse  her,  to  charge  her  with  grasping  at  what  I 
had  freely  offered,  with  having,  as  the  phrase  runs, 
designs  on  me,  with  wishing  to  take  power  where 
she  had  been  impelled  to  bestow  love.  She  pressed 
me  with  more  questions,  but  still  I  found  no  an- 
swer. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  I  was  reduced  to  stammering. 
"  I  can't  do  it.  He's  not  the  man.  I  must  find  an- 
other." 

"  Of  the  Prince's  party?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  must  find  somebody ;  I  must 
find  somebody  for  myself." 

I  had  sat  down,  and  she  was  standing  opposite 
to  me. 

"Find  somebody  for  yourself?"  she  repeated 
slowly.  "  For  yourself  ?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that,  Augustin  ?  " 

"  I  must  choose  a  man  for  myself." 

c<  You  mean — you  mean  without  my  help  ?  " 

I  returned  no  answer,  but  sat  looking  at  her  with 
a  dreary  appealing  gaze.  She  was  silent  for  a  few 
moments  ;  then  she  said  suddenly : 

"  You  haven't  offered  to  kiss  me." 

I  rose  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips ;  she  stood  still 
and  did  not  kiss  me. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  asked  you  to  kiss 
ii 


154  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

me,  and  you've  kissed  me.  Thank  you."  She  paused 
and  added,  "  Have  I  grown  so  much  older  in  a 
day?" 

"  It  is  not  that.     It's— 

"  It  is  that,"  she  said.  She  turned  away  and 
seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  where  she  sat  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  Then  she  gave  a  short 
laugh.  "  I  knew  it  would  come,"  she  said,  "  but  this 
is — is  rather  sudden." 

I  ran  to  her  and  threw  myself  on  my  knees  by 
her.  I  lifted  my  arm  and  put  it  round  her  neck  and 
drew  her  face  down  to  mine. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  I  whispered  passionately.  "  It's 
not  that." 

She  let  me  kiss  her  now  many  times,  and  presently 
returned  my  kisses.  Her  breath  caught  in  gasps, 
and  she  clutched  my  hand  imploringly. 

"You  do  love  me?"  she  murmured. 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  Then  why — why?  Why  do  you  do  this ?  "  She 
drew  back,  looking  in  my  face  in  a  bewildered  way. 
Then  a  sudden  brightness  came  into  her  eyes.  "  Is 
it  for  me  ?  Are  you  thinking  of  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I  in  stubborn  honesty,  "  I  was  not 
thinking  of  you." 

"  Don't !  "  she  cried,  for  she  did  not  believe  me. 
"  What  do  I  care  ?  I  cared  once ;  I  don't  care 
now." 

"  It  wasn't  because  of  you,"  I  repeated  obsti- 
nately. 

"  Then  tell  me,  tell  me !  Because  I  believe  you 
still  love  me." 

I  made  shift  to  tell  her,  but  my  stumbling  words 
belittled  the  great  conception :  I  could  not  find  the 
phrases  that  alone  might  convey  the  truth  to  her; 


I   PROMISE   NOT    TO   LAUGH.  155 

but  I  held  on,  trying  to  say  something  of  what  I 
meant. 

"  I  never  tried  to  interfere,"  she  broke  in  once. 

"  I  made  you  interfere,  I  myself,"  was  my  lame 
answer;  and  the  rest  I  said  was  as  lame. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  murmured  forlornly 
and  petulantly.  "  Oh,  I  suppose  I  see  what  you  mean 
in  a  way;  but  I  don't  believe  it.  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  feel  like  that  about  it.  Do  men  feel 
like  that?  Women  don't." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  I  pleaded,  pressing  her  hand. 
She  drew  it  away  gently. 

"And  what  will  it  mean?"  she  asked.  "Am  I 
never  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  Often,  often,  I  hope,  but : 

"  I'm  not  to  talk  to  you  about — about  important 
things,  things  we  both  care  about  ?  " 

I  felt  the  absurdity  of  such  a  position.  The  ab- 
stract made  concrete  is  so  often  made  absurd. 

"  Then  you  won't  come  often ;  you  won't  care 
about  coming."  Something  in  her  thoughts  made 
her  flush  suddenly.  She  met  my  eyes  and  took  cour- 
age. "  You  asked  a  good  deal  of  me,"  she  said. 

I  made  no  answer ;  she  understood  my  silence. 
She  rose,  leaving  me  on  my  knees.  I  threw  myself 
on  the  sofa  and  she  went  to  the  hearthrug.  She 
knew  that  what  I  had  asked  of  her  I  asked  no  more. 
There  was  a  long  silence  between  us.  At  last  she 
spoke  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"  It's  only  a  little  sooner  than  it  must  have  been," 
she  said.  "  And  I — I  suppose  I  must  be  glad  that 
it's  come  home  to  me  now  instead  of — later.  I 
daresay  you'll  be  glad  of  that  too,  Augustin." 

"  How  are  we  to  live,  how  are  we  to  meet,  what 
are  we  to  be  to  one  another  ?  "  she  broke  out  the 


1 56  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

next  moment.  "  We  can't  go  on  as  if  nothing  had 
happened." 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know !  Yet  you're  hard  as  iron  about 
it.  Oh,  I  daresay  you're  right;  you  must  be.  It's 
only  a  little  sooner." 

She  turned  her  back  to  me,  and  stood  looking 
down  into  the  fire.  I  was  trying  to  answer  her  ques- 
tion, to  realize  how  it  would  be  between  us,  how, 
having  lived  in  the  real,  we  must  now  dwell  in  the 
unreal  with  one  another.  I  was  wondering  how  I 
could  meet  her  and  not  show  that  I  loved  her,  how 
I  could  love  her  and  yet  be  true  to  my  idol,  the 
conception  that  governed  me.  Suddenly  she  spoke, 
without  turning  or  lifting  her  head. 

"  Whom  shall  you  send  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  haven't  settled." 

"  Wetter  mentioned  somebody  else — besides  him- 
self?" 

"  Only  Max,"  said  I,  with  a  dreary  laugh. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  send  Max?  That  is,  if  you 
think  him  fit  for  it." 

I  thought  that  she  was  relieving  her  petulance 
by  a  bitter  jest ;  but  a  moment  later  she  said  again, 
still  without  turning  round : 

"  Send  Max." 

I  rose  and  walked  slowly  to  where  she  stood. 
Hearing  my  movement,  she  faced  me. 

"  Send  Max,"  she  said  again,  holding  out  her 
hands  toward  me,  clasped  together.  "  I — I  can't 
stay  here  like — in  the  way  you  say.  And  you  ?  How 
could  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  You  would  go  with  him  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Of  course." 

"  For  five  years  ?  " 


I   PROMISE   NOT   TO   LAUGH.  157 

"  When  I  come  back,"  she  said,  "  you  will  be 
twenty-five.  You  will  be  married  to  Elsa.  I  shall 
be  thirty-four.  There  will  be  no  difficulty  about 
how  we  are  to  treat  one  another  when  I  come  back, 
Augustin." 

"  My  God !  "  I  murmured,  looking  in  her  eyes. 
As  I  looked  they  filled  with  tears. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  said,  raising  her  arms 
and  setting  her  hands  on  my  shoulders,  "  I  have 
never  forgotten  that  I  was  a  fool.  Yes,  once,  for  a 
few  moments  yesterday.  I  shall  remember  at  Paris 
what  a  fool  I  was,  and  I  shan't  forget  it  when  I  come 
back.  Only  I  wish  it  didn't  break  one's  heart  to  be 
a  fool." 

"  I  won't  let  you  go ;  I  won't  send  him.  I 
can't." 

"  Will  it  be  better  to  have  it  happen  here  grad- 
ually before  my  eyes  every  day?  I  should  kill  my- 
self. I  couldn't  bear  it.  I  should  see  you  finding 
out,  changing,  forgetting,  laughing.  Oh,  what  a 
miserable  woman  I  am !  "  She  turned  away  sudden- 
ly and  flung  herself  into  an  armchair. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?"  she  cried.  "Why  did 
you?" 

"  I  loved  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes.  That's  the  absurdity,  the  hor- 
rible absurdity.  And  I  loved  you,  and  I  love  you. 
Isn't  it  funny ?"  She  laughed  hysterically.  "How 
funny  we  shall  think  it  soon!  When  I  come  back 
from  Paris !  No,  before  then  !  We  shall  laugh  about 
it !  "  She  broke  into  sobs,  hiding  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

"  I  shall  never  laugh  about  it,"  I  said. 

"  Shan't  you  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  and  gaz- 
ing intently  at  me.  Then  she  rose  and  came  toward 


158 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


me.  "  No,  I  don't  think  you  will.  Don't,  dear.  But 
I  don't  think  you  will.  You  won't  laugh  about  it, 
will  you  ?  You  won't  laugh,  Caesar  ?  " 

I  bent  low  and  kissed  her  hand.  I  should  have 
broken  down  had  I  tried  to  speak.  As  I  raised  my 
head  from  her  hand,  she  kissed  my  brow.  Then  she 
wiped  her  eyes,  saying : 

"  You'll  send  Max  to  Paris  ?  You  promised  me 
this  Embassy.  You  shall  be  good  and  great  and 
independent,  and  all  you  say  you  mean  to  be  and 
must  be  afterward.  But  you  promised  me  this  Em- 
bassy. Well,  I  ask  your  promise  of  you.  I  ask 
it  for  Max." 

"  You  would  go  away  from  me  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  want  to  grow  old  away  from  you.  I  ask 
the  Embassy  for  Max." 

I  stood  silent,  wretched,  undecided.  She  came 
near  to  me  again. 

"  Don't  refuse  me,  dear,"  she  said  in  a  low  un- 
steady voice.  "I  don't  ask  much  of  you;  just  to 
let  me  go,  and  not  to  laugh.  I  shall  never  ask  any- 
thing again  of  you.  I  have  given  you  so  much,  and 
I  would  have  given  you  anything  you  asked.  Don't 
refuse  me." 

"  It  breaks  my  heart." 

"  Poor  heart,  poor  heart !  "  she  whispered  soft- 
ly, with  a  sad  mocking  smile.  "  It  will  mend, 
Caesar." 

"  You — you  mean  it  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart  and  soul." 

"  Then  so  be  it." 

She  came  to  me  and  held  out  her  arms.  I  clasped 
her  in  mine,  and  we  kissed  one  another.  Then  both 
of  us  sat  down  again,  and  there  was  silence.  Only 
once  she  spoke. 


I   PROMISE   NOT   TO   LAUGH. 

"  How  soon  shall  we  go?  "  she  asked. 

"  In  about  three  weeks  or  a  month,  I  suppose,"  I 
answered. 

We  were  sitting  silent  when  we  heard  a  step  on 
the  stairs.  "  Hark !  "  she  said.  "  It's  Max's  step." 
She  rose  quickly  and  turned  the  lamp  lower,  then 
seated  herself  in  shadow.  "  May  I  tell  him  about  it 
now  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes — if  it  must  be  so." 

"  Yes,  it  must."  She  kissed  her  hand  to  me,  say- 
ing, "  Good-bye."  The  door  opened,  and  Max  von 
Sempach  came  in.  Before  he  could  greet  me  she 
began : 

"  Max,  what  do  you  think  brings  the  King  here 
to-day?" 

Max  professed  himself  at  a  loss. 

"  He's  come  about  you,"  she  said.  "  We've  been 
talking  about  you." 

"  Have  you  ?  What  about  me  ?  "  he  asked,  going 
up  to  her.  She  rose  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"  The  King  is  going  to  give  our  side  a  turn,"  she 
said  with  a  marvellous  composure  and  even  an  ap- 
pearance of  gaiety. 

"  What?  "  cried  Max.  "  Are  you  going  to  send 
Wetter  to  Paris,  sire  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  Not  Wetter.  He  doesn't  want 
it  now,  and  anyhow  he's  not  fit  for  it." 

"  He  doesn't  want  it !     Oh,  but  he  does !  " 

"  Max,  you  mustn't  contradict  the  King.  But 
one  of  our  people  is  to  have  it.  Guess  who  it  is !  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  is  if  it's  not  Wetter." 

"  It's  you,"  she  said.     "  Isn't  it,  sire?  " 

"  If  he  likes  it,"  said  I.    "  Do  you  like  it?  " 


l6o  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  Like  it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  but-  I  can't  be- 
lieve it !  Something  of  the  sort  has  been  the  dream 
of  my  life." 

"  It  is  yours  if  you  will  have  it,"  said  I. 

"  And  the  dream  of  your  life  will  come  true,"  she 
said.  "  Fancy  that !  I  didn't  know  it  ever  hap- 
pened." And  she  glanced  at  me. 

"  Yes,  the  dream  of  his  life  shall  come  true,"  said 
I.  "  You're  very  fit  for  it,  and  I'm  very  glad  to 
give  it  to  one  of  your  side." 

"  The  King  belongs  to  no  party,"  said  she.  She 
paused  and  added,  "  And  to  no  person.  He  stands 
apart  and  alone." 

I  hardly  heeded  Max's  profuse  thanks  and  hon- 
est open  exultation. 

"  It's  too  good  to  be  true,"  said  he. 

This  has  always  seemed  to  me  a  strange  little 
scene  between  us  three.  The  accepted  conventions 
of  emotion  required  that  it  should  raise  in  me  and 
in  her  a  feeling  of  remorse ;  for  Max  was  so  honest, 
so  simple,  so  exclusively  given  over  to  gratitude. 
So  far  as  I  recollect,  however,  I  had  no  such  feeling, 
and  I  do  not  think  that  the  Countess  differed  from 
me  in  this  respect.  I  was  envious  of  him,  not  be- 
cause he  took  her  with  him  (for  he  did  not  take  her 
love),  but  simply  because  he  had  got  something  he 
liked,  was  very  pleased,  and  in  a  good  temper  with 
the  world  and  himself.  The  dream  of  his  life,  as 
he  declared  impetuously,  was  fulfilled.  The  dream 
of  ours  was  shattered.  How  were  we  to  reproach 
ourselves  on  his  account?  It  would  have  been  the 
Quixotry  of  conscience. 

"  I  daresay  you  won't  like  it  so  much  as  you 
think,"  said  I,  with  a  childish  desire  to  make  him  a 
little  less  comfortable. 


I   PROMISE   NOT   TO   LAUGH.  161 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall !  And  you'll  like  it,  won't 
you  ?  "  He  turned  to  his  wife  affectionately. 

"  As  if  I  should  let  you  take  it  if  I  didn't  like 
it,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "  Think  how  I  shall 
show  off  before  all  my  good  countrywomen  in 
Paris !  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  your  Majesty,"  said 
Max. 

"  I  don't  want  any  thanks.  I  haven't  done  it  for 
thanks.  I  thought  you  the  best  man." 

"  No,  no,"  he  murmured.  "  I  like  to  think  it's 
partly  friendship  for  my  wife  and  me.  Everybody 
will  say  so." 

I  looked  up  with  a  little  start. 

"  I  suppose  they  will,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  you'll  be  handsomely  abused." 

"  That'll  be  rather  funny,"  I  remarked  almost  un- 
consciously, as  I  looked  across  to  the  Countess, 
smiling. 

"I  mean — you  don't  mind  my  saying?"  asked 
Max ;  and  when  I  nodded,  he  went  on,  "  They'll 
point  out  that  you're  turning  to  our  side  the  mo- 
ment that  the  Prince  is  dead.  Yes,  it  will  make  a 
good  deal  of  talk;  they'll  call  it  the  beginning  of  a 
new  era." 

"  Perhaps  they'll  be  right,"  said  she  in  a  low 
voice. 

I  rose  to  my  feet.  I  recognised  the  truth  in  what 
Max  said,  and  it  seemed  to  add  a  touch  of  irony 
that  the  situation  had  lacked.  Hammerfeldt  him- 
self, if  he  looked  down  from  heaven  (as  Victoria 
picturesquely  suggested),  would  be  amused  at  the 
interpretation  put  on  my  action ;  it  would  suit  his 
humour  well  to  see  the  great  sacrifice  that  I  had 
made  at  the  shrine  of  his  teaching  twisted  into  a 


1 62  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

repudiation  of  his  views  and  a  prompt  defiance  of  the 
authority  which  he  in  life  had  exercised.  His  parti- 
sans would  be  furious  with  me,  they  would  say  I 
flouted  his  memory.  That  would  be  strange  to  hear 
when  the  figure  of  the  Countess  was  still  fresh  be- 
fore my  eyes,  and  the  sound  of  her  sobs  rang  yet 
in  my  ears.  I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"  There  are  harder  things  to  bear  than  a  little 
abuse  and  a  little  gossip.  I  can't  help  it  if  they  don't 
understand  the  grounds  of  my  action." 

"  It's  so  soon  after  the  Prince's  death,"  said  Max. 

"  The  thing  could  not  be  delayed ;  it  had  to  be 
done  at  once,"  said  I. 

I  moved  toward  her  to  take  my  leave.  She  was 
standing  close  by  her  husband's  side ;  her  face  was 
still  in  shadow. 

"  We  shall  have  so  much  to  do  before  we  go," 
she  said,  "  that  we  can  hope  to  see  very  little  more 
of  your  Majesty." 

"  Yes,"  broke  in  Max,  "  we  must  go  down  and 
arrange  everything  on  the  estate ;  we're  going  to  be 
away  for  so  long." 

"  Oh,  but  I  shall  hope  to  see  you  again.  You 
must  come  and  say  good-bye  to  me.  Now  I  must 
leave  you." 

"  Good-bye,  and  again  thank  you,"  she  said. 

She  came  with  me  to  the  door,  and  down  the 
stairs.  Max  walked  in  front,  and  went  on  to  open 
the  door  and  see  that  my  carriage  was  in  readiness. 
For  an  instant  I  clasped  her  hand. 

"  I  shan't  see  you  again,"  she  whispered.  "  Good- 
bye." 

I  left  her  standing  on  the  lowest  step,  her  head 
proudly  erect  and  a  smile  on  her  lips.  It  was  as  she 
said,  I  did  not  see  her  again ;  for  they  went  to  the 


I   PROMISE   NOT   TO   LAUGH.  ^3 

country  the  next  day,  and  when  Max  came  to  take 
a  formal  leave  of  me  she  excused  herself  on  the  score 
of  indisposition. 

To  complete  the  picture  I  ought  to  describe  the 
wrath  of  those  who  had  formed  Hammerfeldt's  en- 
tourage, the  gleeful  satisfaction  of  the  opposing 
party,  the  articles  in  the  journals,  the  speculations, 
guesses,  and  assertions  as  to  my  reasons,  temper, 
intention,  and  expressions.  I  should  paint  also  my 
mother's  mingled  annoyance  and  relief,  vexation  that 
I  favoured  the  Liberals,  and  joy  that  the  Countess 
von  Sempach  went  to  Paris ;  Victoria's  absolute  be- 
wilderment and  ineffectual  divings  and  fishings  for 
anything  that  might  throw  light  on  so  mysterious  a 
matter;  William  Adolphus'  intense  self-complacency 
in  my  following  of  his  advice,  accompanied  by  a 
patronizing  rebuke  for  my  having  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  "  do  it  so  abruptly."  All  these  good  people, 
as  they  acted  their  little  parts  and  filled  their  cor- 
ners of  the  stage,  had  their  own  ideas  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  play  and  their  own  estimate  of  the  impor- 
tance of  the  characters.  They  all  fitted  into  their 
places  in  my  conception  of  it,  so  that  not  one  was 
superfluous ;  all  were  needed,  and  all  worked  in  un- 
consciousness to  heighten  the  irony,  to  point  the 
comedy,  and  to  frame  the  tragedy  in  its  most  effect- 
ive, most  incongruous  setting.  For  in  this  real  life 
the  stage-manager  takes  no  pains  to  have  all  things 
in  harmony  nor  to  lead  us  through  gradual  and  well- 
attempered  emotions  to  the  climax  of  exalted  feel- 
ing, nor  to  banish  from  our  sight  all  that  jars  and 
clashes  with  the  pathos  of  the  piece.  Rather  he 
works  by  contrasts,  by  strange  juxtapositions,  by 
surprises,  careless  how  many  of  the  audience  follow 
his  mind,  not  heeding  dissatisfaction  or  pleasure, 


X64  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

recking  nothing  whether  we  applaud  or  damn  his 
play. 

Well,  here  was  I,  Augustin,  twenty  years  of  age, 
and  determined  to  reign  alone.  And  my  Countess 
was  gone  to  Paris.  Did  you  look  down  from  heaven, 
old  Hammerfeldt?  Victoria  thought  you  did.  Well, 
then,  was  not  the  boy's  work  absurdly,  extravagant- 
ly, bravely  done? 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PLEASURE  TAKES  LEAVE  TO  PROTEST. 

DURING  the  months  that  followed  the  departure 
of  the  Sempachs  I  engaged  myself  busily  in  public 
affairs,  in  the  endeavour  to  gain  better  acquaintance 
with  the  difficult  trade  which  was  mine.  I  do  not 
throw  off  impressions  lightly,  and  I  was  disinclined 
for  gaiety,  or  for  more  society  than  the  obligations 
of  my  position  demanded.  My  mother  approved  of 
my  zeal ;  a  convinced  partisan,  she  enjoyed  that  happy 
confidence  in  her  own  views  which  makes  people 
certain  that  everybody  can  study  their  opinions  only 
to  embrace  them.  Attention  is  the  sole  preliminary 
to  conversion.  I  will  not  speak  further  of  this  mat- 
ter here  than  to  say  that  I  was  doomed  to  disappoint 
Princess  Heinrich  in  this  respect.  I  am  glad  of  it. 
The  world  moves,  and  although  it  is  very  difficult  for 
persons  so  artificially  situated  as  I  have  been  to  move 
with  it,  yet  we  can  and  must  move  after  it,  lumbering 
along  in  its  wake  more  or  less  slowly  and  awkwardly. 
We  hold  on  this  tenure ;  if  we  do  not  perform  it — 
well,  we  end  in  country-houses  in  England. 

It  was,  I  suppose,  owing  to  these  occupations  that 
I  failed  to  notice  the  relations  between  Victoria  and 
her  husband  until  they  had  reached  a  rather  acute 
crisis.  Either  from  a  desire  to  re-enforce  the  number 
of  my  guardian  angels,  or  merely  because  they  found 

165 


1 66  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

themselves  very  comfortable,  the  pair  had  taken  up 
a  practically  permanent  residence  with  me.  I  was 
very  glad  to  have  them,  and  assigned  them  a  hand- 
some set  of  apartments  quite  at  the  other  end  of  the 
house.  Here  they  lived  in  considerable  splendour, 
seeing  a  great  deal  of  company  and  assuming  the 
position  of  social  leaders.  Victoria  at  least  was  ad- 
mirably suited  to  play  such  a  part,  and  I  certainly 
did  not  grudge  it  to  her;  for  my  mother  I  can  not 
speak  so  confidently.  William  Adolphus,  having 
abandoned  his  military  pursuits,  led  an  idle  loung- 
ing life.  In  consequence  he  grew  indolent ;  his  stout- 
ness increased.  I  mention  this  personal  detail  merely 
because  I  believe  that  it  had  a  considerable  influence 
on  Victoria's  feelings  toward  him.  Her  varied  na- 
ture included  a  vivid  streak  of  the  romantic,  and 
with  every  expansion  in  his  belt  and  every  multipli- 
cation of  the  folds  of  his  chin  William  Adolphus  came 
to  satisfy  this  instinct  in  her  less  and  less.  She  sought 
other  interests ;  she  contrived  to  combine  very  dex- 
terously the  femme  incomprise  with  the  leader  of  fash- 
ion ;  she  posed  as  a  patron  of  letters  and  the  arts, 
indulging  in  intellectual  flirtations  with  professors 
and  other  learned  folk.  There  was  no  harm  in  this, 
and  William  Adolphus  would  not  have  been  in  the 
smallest  degree  disturbed  by  it.  He  had  all  the  self- 
confidence  given  by  a  complete  want  of  imagina- 
tion. Unhappily,  however,  she  began  to  treat  him 
with  something  very  like  contempt,  allowed  him  to 
perceive  that  his  company  did  not  satisfy  her  spiritual 
and  mental  requirements,  and  showed  herself  more 
than  willing  that  he  should  choose  his  own  associ- 
ates and  dispose  of  his  own  time.  He  was  not  resent- 
ful; he  confessed  that  his  wife's  friends  bored  him, 
and  availed  himself  amply  and  good-naturedly  of 


PLEASURE   TAKES   LEAVE   TO   PROTEST. 


the  liberty  which  her  expressed  preferences  afforded 
him.  He  devoted  himself  to  his  sport,  his  dogs,  and 
his  horses;  this  was  all  very  well.  He  also  became 
a  noted  patron  of  the  lighter  forms  of  the  drama; 
this,  for  reasons  that  I  shall  indicate  directly,  was 
not  quite  so  well.  Out  of  this  last  taste  of  William 
Adolphus  came  the  strained  relations  between  his 
wife  and  himself  to  which  I  have  referred. 

Among  those  who  have  crossed  my  path  few  have 
stamped  themselves  more  clearly  on  my  memory 
than  Coralie  Mansoni.  She  was  by  no  means  so 
great  a  force  in  my  life  as  was  the  Countess  von 
Sempach,  but  she  remains  a  singularly  vivid  image 
before  my  eyes.  Born  heaven  knew  where,  and  of 
parents  whom  I  doubt  whether  she  herself  could 
name,  seeming  to  hail  from  the  borderland  of  Italy 
and  France,  a  daughter  of  the  Riviera,  she  had 
strayed  and  tumbled  through  a  youth  of  which  she 
would  speak  in  moments  of  expansion.  I,  however, 
need  say  nothing  of  it.  When  I  saw  her  first  she 
was  playing  a  small  part  in  a  light  opera  at  Forstadt. 
A  few  weeks  later  she  had  assumed  leading  roles, 
and  was  the  idol  of  the  young  men.  She  was  then 
about  twenty-three,  tall,  dark,  of  full  figure,  doomed 
to  a  brevity  of  beauty,  but  at  the  moment  magnifi- 
cence itself.  Every  intellectual  gift  she  appeared  to 
lack,  except  a  strangely  persistent  resolution  of  pur- 
pose and  an  admirably  lucid  conception  of  her  own 
interest.  She  was  not  in  the  least  brilliant  or  even 
amusing  in  general  conversation.  Sire  worshipped 
her  own  beauty  ;  she  owed  to  it  all  she  was,  and  paid 
the  debt  with  a  defiant  assertion  of  its  supremacy. 
None  could  contradict  her.  She  was  very  lazy  as 
regards  physical  exertion,  extremely  fond  of  eat- 
ing and  drinking,  a  careful  manager  of  her  money. 


1 68  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

All  this  sounds,  and  was,  very  unattractive.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  account  may  be  put  a  certain  sim- 
plicity, an  indolent  kindness,  a  desire  to  make  folks 
comfortable,  and  (what  I  liked  most)  a  mental  hon- 
esty which  caused  her  to  assess  both  herself  and 
other  people  with  a  nearness  to  her  and  their  real 
value  that  was  at  times  absolutely  startling.  It 
seemed  as  though  a  person,  otherwise  neither  clever 
nor  of  signally  high  character,  had  been  gifted  with 
a  clairvoyance  which  allowed  her  to  read  hearts,  and 
a  relentless  fine  sincerity  that  forced  her  to  declare 
what  she  read  to  all  who  cared  to  listen  to  her. 
Whatever  she  did  or  did  not  in  that  queer  life  of 
hers,  she  never  flattered  man  or  woman,  and  fash- 
ioned no  false  image  of  herself. 

William  Adolphus  made  her  the  rage,  so  strange- 
ly things  fall  out.  He  went  five  nights  running  to 
see  her.  Next  week  came  a  new  piece,  with  Coralie 
in  the  chief  part.  My  brother-in-law  had  sent  for 
her  to  his  box.  He  was  a  Prince,  a  great  man,  ex- 
alted, of  what  seemed  boundless  wealth.  Coralie 
was  languidly  polite.  William  Adolphus'  broad  face 
must  have  worn  a  luxurious  smile.  He  did  Coralie 
the  honour  of  calling  on  her  at  her  pretty  villa,  where 
she  lived  with  her  aunt-in-law  (oddly  selected  rela- 
tionship !),  Madame  Briande.  He  was  received  with 
acquiescence ;  enthusiasm  was  not  among  Coralie's 
accomplishments.  However,  she  lazily  drawled  out 
the  opinion  that  Monseigneur  was  bon  enfant.  Wil- 
liam Adolphus  mounted  into  the  seventh  heaven. 
He  came  home  and  did  not  tell  his  wife  where  he 
had  been.  This  silence  was  significant.  As  a  rule, 
if  he  but  visited  the  tailor  or  had  his  hair  cut,  he 
told  everybody  all  about  it.  He  had  really  no  idea 
that  some  things  were  uninteresting.  I  do  not 


PLEASURE   TAKES    LEAVE   TO    PROTEST.       i£g 

mean  to  say  that  this  trait  constitutes  exactly  a 
peculiarity. 

My  brother-in-law  and  I  were  very  good  friends. 
He  proposed  that  I  should  accompany  him  to  the 
theatre,  and  afterward  be  his  guest,  for  he  was  to 
entertain  Coralie  at  supper. 

"  But  where?  "  I  asked  with  a  smile. 

"  There  is  an  excellent  restaurant  where  I  have 
a  private  room,"  he  confessed. 

"  And  they  don't  know  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  they  know  me." 

"  I  mean,  where  they  would  be  willing  to  know 
neither  you  nor  me." 

"  Oh,  I  see  what  you  mean.    That's  all  right." 

So  I  went  with  William  Adolphus.  Several  men 
whom  I  knew  were  present,  among  them  Wetter  and 
M.  le  Vicomte  de  Varvilliers,  second  secretary  of 
the  French  Embassy  and  a  mirror  of  fashion.  We 
were  quite  informal.  Varvilliers  sat  on  my  left  and 
employed  himself  in  giving  me  an  account  of  my 
right-hand  neighbour  Coralie.  I  listened  absently, 
for  the  sight  of  Wetter  had  stirred  other  thoughts 
in  my  mind.  I  had  not  yet  spoken  to  Coralie;  my 
brother-in-law  monopolized  her. 

"  I  ought  to  speak  to  her,  I  suppose?"  I  said  to 
'Varvilliers  at  last. 

"  A  thousand  pardons  for  engrossing  your  Majes- 
ty!" he  cried.  "Yes,  I  think  you  should." 

William  Adolphus'  voice  flowed  on  in  the  ac- 
count of  a  match  between  one  of  his  horses  and  one 
of  somebody  else's.  I  turned  to  follow  Varvilliers' 
advice ;  rather  to  my  surprise,  I  found  Coralie's  eyes 
fixed  on  me  with  an  appearance  of  faint  amusement. 
She  began  to  address  me  without  waiting  for  me 
to  say  anything. 

12 


THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 


"  Why  do  you  listen  to  what  Varvilliers  says 
about  me  instead  of  finding  out  about  me  yourself?  " 
she  asked. 

"  How  do  you  know  he  talked  of  you,  mademoi- 
selle?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  returned  to  her 
salad.  William  Adolphus  asked  her  a  question ;  she 
nodded  without  looking  up  from  the  salad.  I  began 
to  eat  my  salad. 

"  It's  a  good  salad,"  I  observed,  after  a  few 
mouthfuls. 

"  Very,"  said  Coralie ;  she  turned  her  great  eyes 
on  me.  "  And,  mon  Dieu,  what  a  rare  thing !  "  she 
added  with  a  sigh. 

Probably  she  would  expect  a  touch  of  gallantry. 

"  The  perfection  -of  everything  is  rare,"  said  I, 
looking  pointedly  in  her  face.  She  put  up  her  hand, 
lightly  fingered  the  curls  on  her  forehead,  smiled  at 
me,  and  turned  again  to  her  salad.  I  laughed.  She 
looked  up  again  quickly. 

"  You  laugh  at  me  ?  "  she  asked,  not  resentfully, 
but  with  an  air  of  frank  inquiry. 

"  No,  at  the  human  race,  mademoiselle.  It  is  we, 
not  you,  who  excite  laughter." 

She  regarded  me  with_  apparent  curiosity,  and 
gradually  began  to  smile.  "Why?"  she  asked,  just 
showing  her  level  white  teeth. 

"  You  haven't  learned  yet?  " 

William  Adolphus  began  to  speak  to  her.  You 
would  have  sworn  she  had  a  deaf  ear  that  side.  She 
had  finished  her  salad  and  sat  turned  toward  me. 
If  a  very  white  shoulder  could  at  all  console  my 
brother-in-law,  he  had  an  admirable  view  of  one. 
Apparently  he  was  not  content ;  he  pushed  his  chair 
back  with  a  noise  and  called  to  me : 


PLEASURE   TAKES    LEAVE    TO   PROTEST. 


171 


"Shall  we  smoke?     I  have  eaten  enough." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  I  answered. 

"  In  fact  he  has  eaten  too  much,"  observed 
Coralie,  by  no  means  in  an  "  aside."  "  He  and 
I — we  both  eat  too  much.  He  is  fat  already.  I 
shall  be." 

"  You  are  talkative  to-nighl;,  mademoiselle,"  said 
Varvilliers,  who  was  offering  her  a  cigarette. 

"  I  believe  there  is  to-night  some  one  worth  talk- 
ing to,"  she  retorted. 

"  Alas,  and  not  last  night  ?  "  he  cried  in  affected 
despair. 

I,  however,  thinking  that  it  would  ill  become  me 
to  eat  my  brother-in-law's  supper  and  then  spoil  his 
sport,  bowed  to  the  lady  and  crossed  over  to  where 
Wetter  was  standing.  Near  him  was  a  group  of 
young  men  laughing  and  talking  with  Madame  Bri- 
ande ;  he  seemed  to  pay  little  heed  to  their  chatter. 
Varvilliers  followed  me,  and  W7illiam  Adolphus  sat 
down  by  Coralie.  But  I  had  not  been  talking  to 
Wetter  more  than  two  minutes  when  the  lady  rose, 
left  my  brother-in-law,  and  came  to  join  our  group. 
She  took  her  stand  close  by  me.  Half  attracted  and 
half  repelled  by  her,  young  enough  still  to  be  shy, 
I  was  much  embarrassed ;  the  other  men  were  smil- 
ing— I  must  except  William  Adolphus — and  Varvil- 
liers whispered  to  me : 

"  Lcs  beaux:  ycux  de  votre  couronne,  sire." 

Coralie  overheard  his  warning;  she  was  not  in 
the  least  put  out. 

"  Don't  disturb  yourself,"  she  said  to  Varvilliers. 
"  The  King  is  not  a  fool ;  he  doesn't  suppose  that 
people  forget  what  he  is." 

"  You've  judged  him  on  short  acquaintance,"  said 
Varvilliers,  rather  vexed. 


Ij2  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  It's  my  way ;  and  why  shouldn't  I  give  my 
opinion  ?  " 

Wetter  laughed,  and  said  to  the  Frenchman : 

"  You  had  better  not  ask  for  your  character,  I 
think,  Vicomte." 

"  Heavens,  no !  "  cried  he.  "  Come,  I  see  Mon- 
seigneur  all  alone  !  " 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Coralie.  "  Go  and  talk 
to  him.  The  King  and  I  will  talk." 

They  went  off,  Wetter  laughing,  Varvilliers  still 
a  little  ruffled  by  his  encounter.  Coralie  passed  her 
arm  through  mine  and  led  me  to  a  sofa.  I  had  re- 
covered my  composure,  was  interested,  and  amused. 

"  Briande,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  is  always  deplor- 
ing my  stupidity.  *  How  will  you  get  on,'  she  says, 
'  without  wit  ?  Men  are  ruled  by  wit  though  they 
are  won  by  faces.'  So  she  says.  Well,  I  don't  know. 
Wit  is  not  in  my  line."  She  looked  at  me  half  ques- 
tioningly,  half  defiantly. 

"  I  perceive  no  deficiency  in  the  quality,  made- 
moiselle," said  I. 

"  Then  you  have  not  known  witty  women,"  she 
retorted  tranquilly.  "  But  I  am  not  altogether  dull. 
I  am  not  like  Monseigneur  there." 

"  My  brother-in-law  ?  " 

"  So  I  am  told." 

As  she  said  this  she  looked  again  at  me  and  began 
to  laugh.  I  laughed  also.  But  I  could  not  very  well 
discuss  William  Adolphus  with  her. 

"  What  man  do  you  desire  to  rule  with  this  wit  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  One  can't  tell  when  it  might  be  useful,"  said  she, 
with  a  barely  perceptible  smile. 

"  Surely  beauty  is  more  powerful  ?  " 

"  With  Monseigneur?  " 


PLEASURE  TAKES  LEAVE  TO  PROTEST.   ^3 

"  Oh,  never  mind  Monseigneur." 

"  But  not  with  men  of  another  kind." 

"  Some  men  are  not  to  be  ruled  by  any  means." 

"You  think  so?" 

"Take  Wetter  now?" 

"  I  would  give  him  a  week's  resistance." 

"  Varvilliers  ? " 

"  A  day." 

I  did  not  put  the  third  question,  but  I  looked  at 
her  with  a  smile.  She  saw  my  meaning,  of  course, 
but  she  did  not  tell  me  how  long  a  resistance  she 
would  predict  for  me.  I  thought  that  I  had  talked 
enough  to  her,  and,  since  she  would  not  let  me  alone, 
I  determined  to  take  my  leave.  I  wished  her  good- 
night. She  received  my  adieu  with  marked  indif- 
ference. 

"  I  am  very  glad  tp  have  made  your  acquaint- 
ance," said  I. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  answered.  "  You  are  thinking 
that  I  am  a  strange  creature,  a  new  experience,"  and 
with  this  she  turned  away,  although  I  was  about  to 
speak  again. 

Varvilliers'  way  lay  in  the  same  direction  as  mine, 
and  I  took  him  with  me.  He  chatted  gaily  as  we 
went.  What  I  liked  in  the  Vicomte  was  his  confi- 
dent denial  of  life's  alleged  seriousness.  He  seemed 
much  amused  at  the  situation  which  he  proceeded  to 
unfold  to  me.  According  to  him,  Wetter  was  pas- 
sionately, my  brother-in-law  inanely,  enamoured  of 
Coralie.  Wetter  was  ready  to  ruin  himself  in  purse 
and  prospects  for  her,  and  would  gladly  marry  her. 
William  Adolphus  would  be  capable  of  defying  his 
wife,  his  mother-in-law,  and  public  opinion.  But 
Coralie,  he  explained,  cared  little  for  either.  Wetter 
could  give  her  nothing,  from  William  Adolphus  she 


174 


THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 


had  already  gained  the  advancement  which  it  was  in 
his  power  to  secure  for  her. 

"  She  wanted  something  new,  so  she  made  him 
bring  your  Majesty,"  he  ended,  laughing. 

"  Was  my  brother-in-law  unwilling?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  He  didn't  understand,"  laughed  Var- 
villiers.  "  He  was  proud  to  bring  you." 

"  It's  rather  awkward  for  me.  I  suppose  I 
oughtn't  to  have  come  ?  " 

"  Ah,  sire,  when  we  have  enjoyed  ourselves,  let 
us  not  be  ungrateful.  She  amused  you?  " 

"  She  certainly  interested  me." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  more  do  you 
want  ?  "  he  seemed  to  ask.  But  I  was  wondering 
whether  I  should  be  justified  in  lending  countenance 
to  these  distractions  of  William  Adolphus.  The 
Frenchman's  quick  wit  overtook  my  thoughts. 

"  If  you  wish  to  rescue  trie  Prince  from  danger, 
sire,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  you  can't  do  better  than 
come  often." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I'm  in  danger  of  quarrelling 
either  with  my  sister  or  with  my  brother-in-law." 

"  If  I  were  you,  I  should  feel  myself  in  a  danger 
more  delightful." 

"  But  why  not  yourself  equally,  Vicomte  ?  Aren't 
you  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  he  answered,  with  a  laugh  and  a  shake 
of  his  head. 

"  But  why  not?"  I  asked,  laughing  also. 

"  Can  you  ask  ?  There  is  but  one  possible  reason 
for  a  man's  not  being  in  love  with  Coralie  Mansoni." 
•  "  Tell  me  it,  Vicomte." 

"  Because  he  has  been,  sire." 

"  A  good  safeguard,  but  of  no  use  to  me." 

"  Why,  no,  not  at  present,"  answered  Varvilliers. 


PLEASURE   TAKES   LEAVE   TO   PROTEST.       175 

The  carriage  drew  up  at  his  lodgings.  I  was  not 
inclined  for  sleep,  and  readily  acceded  to  his  request 
that  I  should  pay  him  a  visit.  Having  dismissed  the 
carriage  (I  was  but  a  little  way  from  my  own  house), 
I  mounted  the  stairs  and  found  myself  in  a  very  snug 
room.  He  put  me  in  an  armchair  and  gave  me  a 
cigar.  We  talked  long  and  intimately  as  the  hours 
of  the  night  rolled  on.  He  spoke,  half  in  reminis- 
cence, half  in  merry  rhapsody,  of  the  joys  of  living, 
the  delight  of  throwing  the  reins  on  the  neck  of  youth. 
As  I  looked  at  his  trim  figure,  his  handsome  face, 
merry  eyes,  and  dashing  air,  all  that  he  said  seemed 
very  reasonable  and  very  right;  there  was  a  good 
defence  for  it  at  the  bar  of  nature's  tribunal.  It 
was  honest  too,  free  from  cant,  affectation,  and  pre- 
tence ;  it  was  a  recognition  of  facts,  and  enlisted  truth 
on  its  side.  It  needed  no  arguing,  and  he  gave  it 
none ;  the  spirit  that  inspired  also  vindicated  it.  I 
could  not  help  recalling  the  agonies  and  struggles 
which  my  passion  for  the  Countess  von  Sempach 
had  occasioned  me.  At  first  I  thought  that  I  would 
tell  him  about  this  affair,  but  I  found  myself  ashamed. 
And  I  was  ashamed  because  I  had  resisted  the  pas- 
sion ;  it  would  have  been  very  easy  to  tell  him  had 
I  yielded.  But  the  merry  eyes  would  twinkle  in 
amusement  at  my  high-strung  folly,  as  I  had  seen 
them  twinkle  at  my  brother-in-law's  stolidity.  He 
said  something  incidentally  which  led  me  to  fancy 
that  he  had  heard  about  the  Countess  and  had  re- 
ceived a  mistaken  impression  of  the  facts ;  I  did  not 
correct  what  appeared  to  be  his  idea.  I  neither  con- 
firmed nor  contradicted  it.  I  said  to  myself  that  it 
was  nothing  to  me  what  notion  he  had  of  my  con- 
duct; in  reality  I  did  not  desire  him  to  know  the 
truth.  I  clung  to  the  conviction  that. I  could  justify 


THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

what  had  seemed  my  hard-won  victory,  but  I  did  not 
feel  as  though  I  could  justify  it  to  him.  He  would 
laugh,  be  a  little  puzzled,  and  dismiss  the  matter  as 
inexplicable.  His  own  creed  was  not  swathed  in 
clouds,  nor  dim,  nor  hard  clearly  to  see  and  picture ; 
it  was  all  very  straightforward.  Properly  it  was  no 
creed ;  it  was  a  course  of  action  based  on  a  mode  of 
feeling  which  neither  demanded  nor  was  patient  of 
defence  or  explanation.  The  circumstances  of  my 
life  were  such  that  never  before  had  I  been  brought 
into  contact  with  a  similar  temperament  or  a  similar 
practice.  When  they  were  thus  suddenly  presented 
to  me  they  seemed  endowed  with  a  most  attractive 
simplicity,  with  a  naturalness,  with  what  I  must  call 
a  wholesomeness ;  the  objections  I  felt  to  be  over- 
strained, unreal,  morbid.  Varvilliers'  feet  were  on 
firm  ground ;  on  what  shaking  uncertain  bog  of  min- 
gled impulses,  emotions,  fancies,  and  delusions  might 
not  those  who  blamed  him  be  found  themselves  to 
stand  ? 

I  am  confident  that  he  spoke  without  premedita- 
tion, with  no  desire  to  win  a  proselyte,  merely  as  man 
to  man,  in  unaffected  intimacy.  I  think  that  he  was 
rather  sorry  for  me,  having  detected  a  gloominess 
in  my  view  of  life  and  a  tendency  to  moody  and  fret- 
ful introspection.  Once  or  twice  he  referred,  in  pass- 
ing jest,  to  the  difference  of  national  characteristics, 
the  German  tendency  to  make  love  by  crying  (so 
he  put  it)  as  contrasted  with  the  laughing  philosophy 
of  his  own  country.  At  the  end  he  apologized  for 
talking  so  much,  and  pointed  out  to  me  a  photo- 
graph of  Coralie  that  stood  on  the  mantelpiece  more 
than  half-hidden  by  letters  and  papers,  saying,  "  I 
suppose  she  set  me  off ;  somehow  she  seems  to  me 
a  sort  of  embodiment  of  the  thing." 


PLEASURE   TAKES   LEAVE   TO   PROTEST. 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  I  left  him ;  even  then  I 
went  reluctantly,  traversing  again  in  my  mind  the 
field  that  his  tongue  had  easily  and  lightly  covered, 
and  reverting  to  the  girl  who,  as  he  said,  was  a  sort 
of  embodiment  of  the  thing.  The  phrase  was  definite 
enough  for  its  purpose,  and  struck  home  with  an 
undeniable  truth.  He  and  she  were  the  sort  of  peo- 
ple to  live  in  that  sort  of  world,  and  to  stand  as  its 
representatives.  A  feeling  came  over  me  that  it  was 
a  fair  fine  world,  where  life  need  not  be  a  struggle, 
where  a  man  need  not  live  alone,  where  he  would  not 
be  striving  always  after  what  he  could  never  achieve, 
waging  always  a  war  in  which  he  should  never  con- 
quer, staking  all  his  joys  against  most  uncertain 
shadowy  prizes,  which  to  win  would  bring  no  satis- 
faction. I  cried  out  suddenly,  as  I  walked  by  myself 
through  the  night,  "  There's  no  pleasure  in  my  life." 
That  protest  summed  up  my  wrongs.  There  was 
no  pleasure  in  my  life.  There  was  everything  else, 
but  not  that,  not  pure,  unmixed,  simple  pleasure. 
Had  I  no  right  to  some  ?  I  was  very  tired  of  trying 
to  fill  my  place,  of  subordinating  myself  to  my  posi- 
tion, of  being  always  Augustin  the  King.  I  was 
weary  of  my  own  ideal.  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  escape  from  it  sometimes,  to  be,  as  it  were, 
incognito  in  soul  as  well  as  in  body,  so  that  what  I 
thought  and  did  should  not  be  reckoned  as  the  work 
of  the  King's  mind  or  the  act  of  the  King's  hand. 
I  envied  intensely  the  lot  and  the  temper  of  my  friend 
Varvilliers.  When  I  reached  the  palace  and  entered 
it,  it  seemed  to  me  as  thcfligh  I  were  returning  to 
a  prison.  Its  walls  shut  me  off  from  that  free  exist- 
ence whose  sweetness  I  had  tasted,  and  forbade  me 
to  roam  in  the  fields  whither  youth  beckoned  and 
curiosity  lured  me.  That  joy  could  never  be  mine. 


178  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

My  burden  was  ever  with  me ;  the  woman  I  had 
loved  was  gone;  the  girl  I  must  be  made  husband 
to  was  soon  to  come.  I  was  not  and  could  not  be 
as  other  young  men. 

That  all  this,  the  conversation  with  Varvilliers,  its 
effect  on  me,  my  restless  discontent  and  angry  pro- 
tests against  my  fate,  should  follow  on  meeting  Co- 
ralie  Mansoni  at  supper  will  not  seem  strange  to  any- 
body who  remembers  her. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE    HAIR-DRESSER    WAITS. 

WHEN  my  years  and  my  mood  are  considered,  it 
may  appear  that  I  had  enough  to  do  in  keeping  my 
own  life  in  the  channel  of  wisdom  and  discretion.  So 
it  seemed  to  myself,  and  I  was  rather  amused  at  being 
called  upon  to  exert  a  good  influence  or  even  a  whole- 
some authority  over  William  Adolphus ;  it  was  so 
short  a  time  since  he  had  been  summoned  to  perform 
a  like  office  toward  me.  Yet  after  breakfast  the  next 
day  Victoria  came  to  me,  dressed  in  a  subdued  style 
and  speaking  in  low  tones ;  she  has  always  possessed 
a  dramatic  instinct.  She  had  been,  it  seemed,  un- 
able to  remain  unconscious  of  the  gossip  afoot ;  of 
her  own  feelings  she  preferred  to  say  nothing  (she 
repeated  this  observation  several  times) ;  what  she 
thought  about  Was  the  credit  of  the  family ;  and  of 
the  family,  she  took  leave  to  remind  me,  I  was  (I 
think  she  said,  by  God's  will)  the  head.  I  could  not 
resist  remarking  how  times  had  changed ;  less  than 
a  year  ago  she  had  sent  William  Adolphus,  sober, 
staid,  panoplied  in  the  armour  of  contented  marriage, 
to  wrestle  with  my  errant  desires.  Victoria  flushed 
and  became  just  a  little  less  meek. 

"What's  the  good  of  going  back  to  that?"  she 
asked. 

"  None ;  it  is  merely  amusing,"  said  I. 

179 


l8o  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

The  flush  deepened. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  be  insulted  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Let  us  be  cool.  You've  yourself  to  thank  for 
this,  Victoria.  Why  aren't  you  pleasanter  to  him?  " 

"  Oh,  he's — I'm  all  I  ought  to  be  to  him." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  to  him,  you're  very 
little  with  him." 

I  suppose  that  these  altercations  assume  much 
the  same  character  in  all  families.  They  are  neces- 
sarily vulgar,  and  the  details  of  them  need  not  be 
recalled.  For  myself  I  must  confess  that  my  sister 
found  me  in  a  perverse  mood ;  she,  on  her  side,  was 
in  the  unreasonable  temper  of  a  woman  who  expects 
fidelity  but  does  not  show  appreciation.  I  suggested 
this  point  for  her  consideration. 

"  Well,  if  I  don't  appreciate  him,  whose  fault  was 
it  I  married  him  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  I  don't  know.  Whose  fault  is  it  that  I'm  going 
to  marry  Elsa  Bartenstein ?  Whose  fault  is  anything? 
Whose  fault  is  it  that  Coralie  Mansoni  is  a  pretty 
woman  ?  " 

"  I've  never  seen  her." 

"  Ah,  you  wouldn't  think  her  pretty  if  you  had." 

Victoria  looked  at  me  for  a  few  seconds ;  then 
she  suddenly  drew  up  a  low  chair  and  sat  down  at  my 
feet.  She  turned  her  face  up  toward  mine  and  took 
my  hand.  Well,  we  never  really  disliked  one  an- 
other, Victoria  and  I. 

"  Mother's  so  horrid  about  it,"  she  said. 

It  was  an  appeal  to  an  old  time-honoured  alliance, 
sanctified  by  common  sorrows,  endeared  by  stolen 
victories  shared  in  fearful  secrecy. 

"  She  says  it's  my  fault,  just  as  you  do.  But  you 
know  her  way." 

I  became  conscious  that  what  I  had  said  would 


THE    HAIR-DRESSER   WAITS.  igl 

be,  in  fact,  singularly  hard  to  bear  when  it  fell  from 
Princess  Heinrich's  judicial  lips. 

"  She  told  me  that  I  had  lost  him,  and  that  I  had 
only  myself  to  thank  for  it;  and — she  said  it  was 
perhaps  partly  because  my  complexion  had  lost  its 
freshness."  Victoria  paused,  and  then  ended,  "  That's 
a  lie,  you  know." 

I  seemed  to  be  young  again ;  we  were  again  lay- 
ing our  heads  together,  with  intent  to  struggle  against 
our  mother.  I  cared  not  a  groat  for  William  Adol- 
phus,  but  it  would  be  pleasant  to  me  to  help  my  sister 
to  bring  him  back  to  his  bearings ;  and  the  more 
pleasant  in  view  of  Princess  Heinrich's  belief  that 
the  things  could  not  be  done. 

"  As  far  as  being  pleasant  to  him  goes,"  Vic- 
toria resumed,  "  I  don't  believe  that  the  creature's 
pleasant  to  him  either.  At  least  he  came  home  in  a 
horribly  bad  temper  last  night." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I — I  told  him  what  I  thought." 

"  How  we  all  waste  opportunities !  "  I  reflected. 
"  You  ought  to  have  soothed  him  down.  He  was 
annoyed  last  night." 

Of  course  she  asked  how  I  knew  it,  and  in  the 
fresh-born  candour  of  revived  alliance  I  told  her  the 
story  of  our  evening.  I  have  observed  before  on  the 
curious  fact  that  women  who  think  nothing  of  their 
husbands  are  nevertheless  annoyed  when  other  peo- 
ple agree  in  their  estimate.  Victoria  was  very  indig- 
nant with  Coralie  for  slighting  William  Adolphus  and 
showing  a  ready,  disposition  to  transfer  her  attentions 
to  me. 

"  It's  only  because  you're  king,"  she  said.  But 
she  did  not  allow  her  vexation  to  obscure  her  per- 
ception. Her  frown  gave  place  to  a  smile  as  she 


182  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

looked  up,  saying :  "  It  would  be  rather  fun  if  you 
flirted  with  her." 

I  raised  my  eyebrows.  Whence  came  this  new 
complaisance  toward  my  flirtations  ? 

"  Just  enough,  I  mean,  to  disgust  William  Adol- 
phus,"  she  added.  "  Then,  as  soon  as  he'd  given  up, 
you  could  stop,  you  know.  Everything  would  be 
right  then." 

"  Except  mother,  you  mean." 

"  Why,  yes,  except  mother.  And  she'd  be  splen- 
didly wrong,"  laughed  Victoria. 

Nobody  who  studies  himself  honestly  or  observes 
his  neighbours  with  attention  will  deny  value  to  an 
excuse  because  it  may  be  merely  plausible.  After  all, 
to  wear  even  a  transparent  garment  is  not  quite  the 
same  thing  as  to  go  naked.  I  do  not  maintain  that 
Victoria's  suggestion  contributed  decisively  to  the 
prosecution  of  my  acquaintance  with  Coralie  Man- 
soni,  but  it  filled  a  gap  in  the  array  of  reasons  and 
impulses  which  were  leading  me  on,  and  gave  to  the 
matter  an  air  of  sport  and  adventure  most  potent  in 
attraction  for  such  a  mood  as  mine.  I  was  in  rebel- 
lion against  the  limits  of  my  position  and  the  re- 
pression of  my  manner  of  life.  To  play  a  prank  like 
this  suited  my  humour  exactly.  When  Victoria  left 
me,  I  sent  word  of  my  intention  to  be  present  at 
Coralie's  theatre  that  evening,  and  invited  William 
Adolphus  to  join  me  in  my  box.  I  received  the  an- 
swer that  he  would  come. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  theatre  Coralie  was  al- 
ready on  the  stage.  She  was  singing  a  song;  she 
had  a  very  fine  voice ;  her  delivery  and  air,  empty  of 
real  feeling,  were  full  nevertheless  of  a  sensuous  at- 
traction. My  brother-in-law  laid  his  elbows  on  the 
front  of  the  box  and  stared  down  at  her ;  I  sat  a  little 


* 
THE    HAIR-DRESSER   WAITS.  183 

back,  and,  after  watching  the  scene  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, began  to  look  at  the  house.  Immediately 
opposite  me  I  saw  Varvilliers  with  a  party  of  ladies 
and  men ;  he  bowed  and  smiled  as  I  caught  his  eye. 
In  another  box  I  saw  Wetter,  gazing  at  the  singer 
as  intently  as  William  Adolphus  himself.  There  must 
certainly  be  something  in  a  girl  who  exercised  power 
over  two  men  so  different.  And  Wetter  was  a  per- 
son of  importance  and  prominence,  accepted  as  a 
political  leader,  and  consequently  a  fine  target  for 
gossip ;  his  feelings  must  be  strongly  engaged  be- 
fore he  exposed  himself  to  comment.  I  fell  to  study- 
ing his  face;  he  was  pale;  when  I  took  my  glass 
I  could  see  the  nervous  frown  on  his  brow  and  the 
restless  gleam  of  his  eyes.  By  my  side  William 
Adolphus  was  chuckling  with  bovine  satisfaction  at 
an  allusion  in  Coralie's  song;  his  last  night's  pique 
seemed  forgotten.  I  leaned  forward  and  looked  again 
at  Coralie.  She  saw  me  and  sang  the  next  verse 
straight  at  me.  (She  did  the  same  thing  once  more 
in  later  days.)  I  saw  people's  heads  turn  toward 
my  box,  and  drew  back  behind  the  shelter  of  the 
hangings. 

At  the  end  of  the  act  my  brother-in-law  turned 
to  me,  blew  his  nose,  and  ejaculated,  "  Superb !  "  I 
nodded  my  head.  "  Splendid !  "  said  he.  I  nodded 
again.  He  launched  on  a  catalogue  of  Coralie's  at- 
tractions, but  seemed  to  check  himself  rather  sud- 
denly. 

"  I  don't  suppose  she's  your  sort,  though,"  he 
remarked. 

"  Why  not?  "  I  asked  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  like  clever  women  who 
can  talk  and  so  on.  She'd  bore  you  to  death  in  an 
hour,  Augustin." 


1 84 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


"  Would  she?  "  said  I  innocently.  I  was  amused 
at  William  Adolphus'  simple  cunning.  "  I  daresay  I 
should  bore  her  too." 

"  Perhaps  you  would,"  he  chuckled.  "  Only  she 
wouldn't  tell  you  so,  of  course." 

"  But  Wetter  doesn't  seem  to  bore  her,"  I  ob- 
served. 

"  Good  God,  doesn't  he  ? "  cried  my  brother- 
in-law. 

There  were  limits  to  the  amusement  to  be  got 
out  of  him.  I  yawned  and  looked  across  the  house 
again.  Wetter's  place  was  empty.  I  drew  William 
Adolphus'  attention  to  the  fact. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  fellow's  gone  behind?  "  he  said 
uneasily. 

"  We'll  go  after  the  next  act." 

"You'll  go?" 

"  Of  course  I  shall  send  and  ask  permission." 

William  *Adolphus  looked  puzzled  and  gloomy. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  cared  for  that  sort  of  thing; 
I  mean  the  theatre  and  all  that." 

"  We  haven't  a  Coralie  Mansoni  here  every  day," 
I  reminded  him.  "  I  don't  care  for  the  ordinary  run, 
but  she's  something  remarkable,  isn't  she?" 

He  muttered  a  few  words  and  turned  away.  A 
moment  later  Varvilliers  knocked  at  the  door  of  my 
box  and  entered.  Here  was  a  good  messenger  for 
me.  I  sent  him  to  ask  whether  Coralie  would  re- 
ceive me  after  the  next  act.  He  went  off  on  his 
errand  laughing. 

I  need  not  record  the  various  stages  and  the  grad- 
ual progress  of  my  acquaintance  with  Coralie  Man- 
soni. It  would  be  for  the  most  part  a  narrative  of 
foolish  actions  and  a  repetition  of  trivial  conversa- 
tions. I  have  shown  how  I  came  to  enter  on  it,  led 


THE    HAIR-DRESSER    WAITS. 


I85 


by  a  spirit  of  rebellion  and  the  love  of  a  joke,  weary 
of  the  repression  that  was  partly  inevitable,  partly 
self-imposed,  glad  to  find  an  outlet  for  my  youthful 
impulses  in  a  direction  where  my  action  would  in- 
volve no  political  danger.  On  one  good  result  I  can 
pride  myself;  I  was  undoubtedly  the  instrument  of 
sending  my  brother-in-law  back  to  his  wife  a  hum- 
bled and  repentant  man.  Coralie  had  no  scruple 
about  allowing  him  to  perceive  that  her  attentions 
had  been  paid  to  his  rank,  not  to  himself;  and  his 
rank  was  now  eclipsed.  A  few  days  of  sulking  was 
followed  by  a  violent  outburst ;  but  my  position  was 
too  strong.  He  could  not  quarrel  seriously  with  his 
wife's  brother  on  such  a  ground.  He  returned  to 
Victoria,  and,  I  had  no  doubt,  received  the  castiga- 
tion  which  he  certainly  deserved.  My  interest  in  him 
vanished  as  he  vanished  from  the  society  that  cen- 
tred round  Mile.  Mansoni.  At  the  same  time  my 
share  in  his  defeat  and  humiliation  left  a  soreness 
between  us  which  lasted  for  a  long  while. 

I  myself  had  by  this  time  fallen  into  a  severe  con- 
flict of  feeling.  My  temperament  was  not  like  Var- 
villiers'.  For  an  hour  or  two,  when  I  was  exhilarated 
with  society  and  cheered  by  wine,  I  could  seem  to 
myself  such  as  he  naturally  and  permanently  was. 
But  I  was  not  a  native  of  the  clime.  I  raised  myself 
to  those  heights  of  unmoral  serenity  by  an  effort  and 
an  artifice.  He  forgot  himself  easily.  I  was  always 
examining  myself.  That  same  motive,  or  instinct,  or 
tradition  of  feeling  (I  do  not  know  how  best  to  de- 
scribe it)  on  whose  altar  I  had  sacrificed  my  first 
passion  was  still  strong  in  me.  I  did  not  fear  that 
Coralie  would  or  could  exercise  a  political  influence 
over  me,  but  I  was  loth  that  she  should  possess  a 
control  of  any  sort.  I  clung  obstinately  to  the  con- 
13 


1 86  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

ception  of  myself  as  standing  alone,  as  being  inde- 
pendent and  under  the  power  of  nobody  in  any  re- 
spect. This  was  to  me  a  stronger  check  than  the 
restraint  of  accepted  morality.  Looking  back  on  the 
matter,  and  judging  myself  as  I  should  judge  any 
young  man,  I  am  confident  that  my  passion  would 
easily  have  swept  away  the  ordinary  scruples.  It  was 
my  other  conscience,  my  King's  conscience,  that 
raised  the  barrier  and  protracted  the  resistance.  Here 
is  another  case  of  that  reaction  of  my  position  on 
myself  which  has  been  such  a  feature  of  my  life. 
Varvilliers'  unreasoned  philosophy  did  not  cover  this 
point.  Here  I  had  to  fight  out  the  question  for 
myself.  It  was  again  a  struggle  between  the  man 
and  the  king,  between  a  natural  impulse  and  the 
strength  of  an  intellectual  conception.  I  perceived 
with  mingled  amusement  and  bitterness  how  entirely 
Varvilliers  failed  to  appreciate  the  condition  of  my 
mind  or  .to  conceal  his  surprise  at  my  alternate  hot 
and  cold  fits,  urgency  followed  by  a  drawing-back, 
eagerness  to  be  moving  at  moments  when  nothing 
could  be  done,  succeeded  by  refusals  to  stir  when  the 
road  was  clear.  I  believe  that  he  came  to  have  a  very 
poor  opinion  of  me  as  a  man  of  the  world ;  but  his 
kindness  toward  me  never  varied. 

But  there  was  one  to  whom  my  mind  was  an  open 
book,  who  read  easily  and  plainly  every  thought  of 
it,  because  it  was  written  in  the  same  characters  as 
was  his  own.  The  politician  who  risked  his  future, 
the  debtor  who  every  day  incurred  new  expenses, 
the  devotee  of  principles  who  sacrificed  them  for  his 
passion,  the  deviser  of  schemes  who  ruined  them 
at  the  demand  of  his  desires,  here  was  the  man  who 
could  understand  the  heart  of  his  King.  Wetter  was 
my  sympathizer,  and  Wetter  was  my  rival.  The  re- 


THE    HAIR-DRESSER    WAITS.  xg/ 

lations  between  us  in  those  days  were  strange.  We 
did  not  quarrel,  we  felt  a  friendliness  for  one  another. 
Each  knew  the  price  the  other  paid  or  must  pay  as 
well  as  he  knew  his  own  price.  But  we  were  rivals. 
Varvilliers  was  wrong  when  he  said  that  Coralie 
cared  nothing  about  Wetter.  She  cared,  although 
it  was  in  a  peculiar  fashion  that  she  cared.  Truly 
he  could  give  her  little,  but  he  was  to  her  a  sign 
and  a  testimony  of  her  power,  even  as  I  myself  in 
another  way.  Mine  was  the  high  rank,  the  great 
position.  In  conquering  me  lay  the  open  and  notori- 
ous triumph,  but  she  was  not  insensible  to  the  more 
private  joy  and  secret  exultation  that  came  to  her 
from  dominating  a  ruling  mind,  and  filling  with  her 
own  image  a  head  capacious  enough  to  hold  im- 
perial policies  and  shape  the  destinies  of  kingdoms. 
Wetter  and  I,  each  in  our  way,  broke  through  the 
crust  of  seemingly  consistent  frivolity  that  was  on 
her,  and  down  to  a  deep-seated  tendency  toward 
romance  and  the  love  of  power.  She  could  not  rule 
directly,  but  she  could  rule  rulers.  I  am  certain  that 
some  such  idea  was  in  her  head,  alloying,  or  at  least 
refining,  a  grosser  self-interest.  Therefore  Wetter, 
no  less  than  I,  was  of  value  to  her.  She  would  not 
willingly  have  let  him  go,  even  although  he  could 
give  her  nothing  and  she  did  not  care  for  him  in  the 
only  sense  of  which  my  friend  the  Vicomte  took  ac- 
count. I  came  to  realize  how  it  was  between  her  and 
him  before  very  long,  and  to  see  how  the  same  ulti- 
mate instinct  of  her  nature  made  her  long  to  gather 
both  him  and  me  into  her  net.  Thus  she  would  have 
bowing  before  her  the  highest  and  the  strongest  heads 
in  Forstadt.  That  she  so  analyzed  and  reasoned  out 
her  wishes  it  would  be  absurd  to  suppose,  but  we — 
he  and  I — performed  the  task  for  her.  Each  knew 


!88  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

that  the  other  was  at  work  on  it;  each  chafed  that 
she  would  consent  to  be  but  half  his ;  each  desired 
to  rule  alone,  not  to  be  one  of  two  that  were  ruled. 
All  this  had  been  dimly  foreshadowed  to  me  when 
I  sat  in  the  theatre,  looking  now  at  Coralie  as  she 
sang  her  song,  now  at  Wetter's  frowning  brows  and 
tight-set  lips.  I  must  add  that  my  position  was  ren- 
dered peculiarly  difficult  by  the  fact  that  Wetter 
not  only  owed  me  deference,  but  was  still  in  my  debt 
for  the  money  I  had  lerit  him.  He  had  refused  to 
consider  it  a  gift,  but  was,  and  became  every  day 
more,  incapable  of  repaying  it. 

We  were  at  luncheon  at  her  villa  one  day,  we 
three,  and  with  us,  of  course,  Madame  Briande,  an 
exceedingly  well-informed  and  tactful  little  woman. 
Coralie  had  been  very  silent  and  (as  usual)  attentive 
to  her  meal.  The  rest  had  chattered  on  many  sub- 
jects. Suddenly  she  spoke. 

"  It  has  been  very  amusing,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
yawn  that  ended  in  a  rather  weary  smile.  "  For  my 
part  I  can  conceive  only  one  thing  that  could  increase 
the  entertainment." 

"What's  that,  Coralie?"  asked  Madame  Bri- 
ande. 

Coralie  waved  her  right  hand  toward  me  and  her 
left  toward  Wetter. 

"  Why,  that  we  should  have  for  audience  and  as 
spectators  of  our  little  feast  your  subjects,  sire,  and, 
monsieur,  your  followers." 

Clearly  Coralie  had  been  maturing  this  rather 
startling  speech  for  some  time ;  she  launched  it  with 
an  evident  enjoyment  of  its  malice.  A  moment  of 
astonished  silence  followed ;  madame's  tact  was 
strained  beyond  its  uttermost  resources ;  she  smiled 
nervously  and  said  nothing;  Wetter  turned  red.  I 


THE    HAIR-DRESSER   WAITS. 


189 


looked  full  in  Coralie's  eyes,  drained  my  glass  of 
cognac,  and  laughed. 

"But  why  should  that  be  amusing?"  I  asked. 
"  And,  at  least,  shall  we  not  add  to  our  imaginary 
audience  the  crowd  of  your  admirers  ?  " 

"  As  you  will,"  said  she  with  a  shrug.  "  Whom- 
ever we  add  they  would  see  nothing  but  two  gentle- 
men getting  under  the  table,  oh,  so  quickly !  " 

Madame  Briande  became  visibly  distressed. 

"  Is  it  not  so?  "  drawled  Coralie  in  lazy  enjoyment 
of  her  excursion. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  I  should  most  certainly  invoke 
the  shelter  of  your  tablecloth,  mademoiselle.  A  king 
must  avoid  being  misunderstood." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  she  with  a  long  look  at 
me.  "And  you,  monsieur?"  she  added,  turning  to 
Wetter. 

"  I  should  not  get  under  the  table,"  said  he.  He 
strove  to  render  his  tone  light,  but  his  voice  quivered 
with  suppressed  passion. 

"You  wouldn't?"  she  asked.  "You'd  sit  here 
before  them  all?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he. 

Madame  Briande  rose.  Her  evident  intention  was 
to  break  up  the  party.  Coralie  took  no  notice;  we 
men  sat  on,  opposite  one  another,  with  her  between 
us  on  the  third  side  of  the  small  square  table. 

"  Must  not  a  politician  avoid — being  misunder- 
stood ?  "  she  asked  Wetter. 

"  Unless  there  is  something  else  that  he  values 
more,"  was  the  reply. 

She  turned  to  me,  smiling  still. 

"  Would  not  that  be  so  with  a  king  also  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  there  could  be  such  a  thing." 

"  But  you  think  there  could  not  ?  " 


190 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


"  I  can't  call  such  a  thing  to  mind,  mademoiselle." 

"  Ah,  you  can't  call  it  to  mind !  No,  you  can't 
call  it  to  mind.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  a  differ- 
ence, then,  between  politicians  and  kings/' 

Madame  Briande  was  moving  about  the  room  in 
evident  discomfort.  Wetter  was  sitting  with  his  hand 
clenched  on  the  table  and  his  eyes  downcast. 

Coralie  looked  long  and  intently  at  him.  Then 
she  turned  her  eyes  on  me.  I  took  out  a  cigarette, 
lit  it,  and  smiled  at  her. 

"You — you  would  get  under  the  table?"  she 
asked  me. 

"  You  catch  my  meaning  perfectly." 

"  Then  aren't  you  ashamed  to  sit  at  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  and  laughed. 

"  Ah !  "  she  cried,  shaking  her  fist  at  me,  and 
herself  laughing.  Then  she  leaned  over  toward  me 
and  whispered,  "  You  shall  retract  that." 

Wetter  looked  up  and  saw  her  whispering  to  me, 
and  laughing  as  she  whispered.  He  frowned,  and  I 
saw  his  hand  tremble  on  the  table.  Though  I  laughed 
and  fenced  with  her  and  defied  her,  I  was  myself  in 
some  excitement.  I  seemed  to  be  playing  a  match ; 
and  I  had  confidence  in  my  game. 

Wetter  spoke  abruptly  in  a  harsh  but  carefully 
restrained  voice. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  question  the  King's  account 
of  himself,"  he  said,  "  but  so  far  as  I  am  concerned 
your  question  did  me  a  wrong.  Openly  I  come  here, 
openly  I  leave  here.  All  know  why  I  come,  and  what 
I  desire  in  coming.  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  de- 
clare it  before  all  the  city." 

She  rose  and  made  him  a  curtsey,  then  she  gave  a 
slight  yawn  and  observed : 

"  So  now  we  know  just  where  we  are." 


THE    HAIR-DRESSER   WAITS.  191 

"  The  King  has  defined  his  position  with  great 
accuracy,"  said  Wetter  with  an  open  sneer. 

"Yes?    What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"  His  own  words  are  enough ;  mine  could  add  no 
clearness — and ' 

"  Might  give  offence?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  is  possible,"  said  he. 

''  Then  we  come  to  this :  which  is  better,  a  king 
under  the  table  or  a  politician  at  it  ?  "  She  burst  out 
laughing. 

Madame  Briande  had  fled  to  a  remote  corner. 
Wetter  was  in  the  throes  of  excitement.  A  strange 
coolness  and  recklessness  now  possessed  me.  I  was 
insensible  of  everything  at  this  moment  except  the 
impulse  of  rivalry  and  the  desire  for  victory.  Noth- 
ing in  the  scene  had  power  to  repel  me,  my  eyes  were 
blind  to  everything  of  ugly  aspect  in  it. 

"  To  define  the  question,  mademoiselle,  should  be 
but  a  preliminary  to  answering  it,"  said  I,  with  a 
bow. 

"  I  would  answer  it  this  minute,  sire,  but " 

"  You  hesitate,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  but  my  hair-dresser  is  waiting  for  me." 

"  Let  no  such  trifle  detain  you  then,"  I  cried. 
"  For  I,  even  I  the  coward,  had  sooner 

"  Be  misunderstood  ?  " 

"  Why,  precisely.  I  had  sooner  be  misunderstood 
than  that  your  hair  should  not  be  perfectly  dressed 
at  the  theatre." 

Wetter  rose  to  his  feet.  He  said  "  Good-bye  "  to 
Coralie,  not  a  word  more.  To  me  he  bowed  very 
low  and  very  formally.  I  returned  his  salutation 
with  a  cool  nod.  As  he  turned  to  the  door  Coralie 
cried : 

"  I  shall  see  you  at  supper,  mon  cher  I"' 


1 92 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


He  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"  Very  well.    I  like  uncertainty.    We  will  hope." 

He  went  out.     I  stood  facing  her  for  a  moment. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  she,  looking  in  my  eyes,  and  seem- 
ing to  challenge  an  expression  of  opinion. 

"  You  are  pleased  with  yourself  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  have  done  some  mischief." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     But  you  love  uncertainty." 

"  True,  true.  And  you  seem  to  think  that  I  love 
candour." 

"Don't  you?" 

"  I  think  that  I  love  everything  and  everybody 
in  the  world  except  you." 

I  laughed  again.    I  knew  that  I  had  triumphed. 

"  Behold  your  decision,"  I  cried,  "  and  the  hair- 
dresser still  waits !  " 

She  did  not  answer  me.  She  stood  there  smiling. 
I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  with  much  and  even 
affected  gallantry.  Then  I  went  and  paid  a  like  at- 
tention to  Madame  Briande.  As  the  little  woman 
made  her  curtsey  she  turned  alarmed  and  troubled 
eyes  up  to  me. 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieii!  "  she  murmured. 

"  Till  to-night,"  smiled  Coralie. 


CHAPTER  X.VI. 

A    CHASE    OF    TWO    PHANTOMS. 

I  WAS  reading  the  other  day  the  memoirs  of  an 
eminent  English  man  of  letters,  now  dead.  He  had 
paid  a  long  visit  to  Forstadt,  and  had  much  to  say 
(sometimes,  I  think,  in  a  vein  of  veiled  irony)  about 
Victoria,  her  literary  tastes  and  her  literary  circle. 
Finding  amusement  enough  to  induce  me  to  turn 
over  a  few  more  pages,  I  came  on  the  following  pas- 
sage: 

"  With  the  King  himself  I  conversed  once  only ; 
but  I  saw  him  often  and  heard  much  about  him.  He 
was  then  twenty-four — a  tall  and  very  thin  young 
man,  with  dark  brown  hair  and  a  small  mustache  of 
a  lighter  tint.  His  nose  was  aquiline,  his  eyes  rather 
deep  set,  his  face  long  and  inclining  to  the  hatchet- 
shape.  He  had  beautiful  hands,  of  which  he  was 
said  to  be  proud.  He  stooped  a  little  when  walking, 
but  displayed  considerable  dignity  of  carriage.  He 
was  accused  of  haughtiness,  except  toward  a  few 
intimates.  Unquestionably  his  late  adviser,  Ham- 
merfeldt,  had  imbued  him  with  some  notions  as  to 
his  position  which  it  is  hardly  unjust  to  call  medi- 
aeval. A  wit,  or  would-be  wit,  said  of  him  that  he 
postulated  God  in  order  to  legitimize  the  powers  of 
Augustin,  his  deputy.  Certain  persons  very  closely 
acquainted  with  him  (I  withhold  names)  gave  a  curi- 

193 


194 


THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 


cms  account  of  his  character.  Usually  he  was  re- 
served and  even  secretive,  cautious,  cold,  and  free 
from  enthusiasms  and  follies  alike.  But  at  times  he 
appeared  to  be  taken  with  moods  of  strong  feeling. 
Then  he  would  speak  freely  to  the  first  person  who 
might  be  by,  was  eager  for  merriment  and  dissipa- 
tion, not  fastidious  as  to  how  he  came  by  what  he 
wanted,  seeming  forgetful  of  the  sterner  rule  by 
which  his  daily  life  was  governed.  A  reaction  would 
generally  follow,  and  the  King  would  appear  to  take 
a  revenge  on  himself  by  acid  and  savagely  humorous 
comments  on  his  own  acts  and  on  the  companions  of 
his  hours  of  relaxation.  So  far  as  I  studied  him  for 
myself,  I  was  led  to  conclude  that  he  possessed  a  very 
impressionable  and  passionate  temperament,  but  con- 
trived, in  general,  to  keep  it  in  repression.  There 
were  one  or  two  scandals  related  about  him ;  but 
when  we  consider  his  position  and  temptations,  we 
must  give  credit  either  to  his  virtues  or  to  his  dis- 
cretion that  such  stories  were  not  more  numerous. 
I  liked  him  and  thought  well  of  him,  but  I  do  think 
that  he  enjoyed  a  disposition  likely  to  result  in  a 
happy  life  for  himself.  He  was  said  to  have  great 
attractions  for  women ;  but  I  am  not  aware  that  he 
admitted  persons  of  either  sex  to  his  confidence  or 
friendship.  He  was,  I  imagine,  jealous  of  even  ap- 
pearing to  be  under  any  influence." 

This  impression  of  me  was  written  just  about  the 
time  of  my  acquaintance  with  Coralie  Mansoni  and 
of  the  events  which  led  to  a  sudden  break  in  it.  The 
judgment  of  me  seems  very  fair  and  marked  by  con- 
siderable acumen.  I  have  quoted  it  because  it  may 
serve  in  some  degree  to  explain  my  conduct  at  the 
time.  It  also  appears  to  have  an  interest  of  its  own 
as  an  independent  appreciation  formed  by  a  fair- 


A   CHASE   OF   TWO    PHANTOMS. 


195 


minded  and  competent  observer.  I  wish  that  the 
same  hand  had  painted  an  adequate  portrait  of  Wet- 
ter, for  his  character  better  deserved  study  than  my 
own;  but  with  the  curious  prejudice  against  poli- 
ticians that  so  often  affects  the  minds  of  students 
and  men  of  letters  (those  hermits  of  brain-cells)  the 
writer  dismisses  Wetter,  briefly  and  almost  contemp- 
tuously, as  an  able  but  unscrupulous  politician,  ad- 
dicted to  extravagances  and  irregularity  in  private 
life.  He  gives  more  space  to  William  Adolphus 
than  to  Wetter!  So  difficult  it  is  even  for  superior 
minds  to  remain  altogether  unaffected  by  the  lus- 
tre of  rank ;  the  old  truism  could  not  be  better 
exhibited. 

I  kept  my  appointment  and  went  again  to  Co- 
ralie's  in  the  evening.  I  took  with  me  Vohrenlorf, 
my  aide-de-camp  (brother  to  the  General,  my  former 
governor) ;  there  had  been  a  dinner  at  the  palace,  and 
we  were  both  in  uniform.  I  had  hardly  expected 
Wetter  to  come  that  evening,  but  he  was  already 
there  when  I  arrived.  He  seemed  in  an  excited  state ; 
I  found  afterward  that  he  was  fresh  from  the  delivery 
of  a  singularly  brilliant  and  violent  speech  in  the 
Chamber.  I  saluted  him  with  intentional  and  marked 
politeness.  He  made  no  more  response  than  purest 
formality  demanded.  I  was  aggrieved  at  this,  for 
I  desired  to  be  friendly  with  him  in  spite  of  our 
rather  absurd  rivalry.  Turning  away  from  him,  I 
sat  down  by  Coralie  and  asked  her  if  supper  were 
ready. 

"  We're  waiting  for  Varvilliers,"  she  answered. 

"  But  where  is  Madame  Briande?  " 

"  She  went  upstairs.  I  wanted  a  word  with  WTet- 
ter.  She'll  be  down  directly." 

"A  word  \vJth  Wetter?" 


I0,6  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

"  Why  not,  sire?  "  she  asked  with  aggressive  in- 
nocence. 

"  There  can  be  no  reason  why  not,  mademoiselle," 
I  replied,  smiling. 

We  were  interrupted  by  Varvilliers'  arrival.  He 
also  had  dined  at  the  palace,  and  was  in  full  dress. 

"  How  gay  my  little  house  is  to-night,"  drawled 
Coralie,  as  she  rang  the  bell  and  ordered,  in  exactly 
the  same  manner,  the  descent  of  Madame  Briande 
and  the  ascent  of  supper.  Both  orders  were  prompt- 
ly obeyed,  and  we  were  left  alone.  Servants  were 
never  allowed  to  remain  in  waiting  on  these  occa- 
sions. 

Varvilliers  was  in  fine  vein  that  night,  and  Wet- 
ter seconded  him.  The  one  glittered  with  sharp-cut 
gems  of  speech,  the  other  struck  chords  of  deep  and 
touching  music.  I  played  a  more  modest  part, 
madame  and  Vohrenlorf  were  audience,  Coralie 
seemed  the  judge  whose  hand  was  to  award  the  prize. 
Yet  she  was  indolent,  and  appeared  to  listen  to  no 
more  than  half  of  what  was  said.  We  finished  eating 
and  began  to  smoke  ;  the  wine  still  went  round.  Sud- 
denly a  pause  fell  on  us.  A  mot  from  Varvilliers  had 
set  finis  to  our  subject,  and  another  delayed  present- 
ing itself.  To  my  surprise  Wetter  turned  to  me. 

"  In  the  Chamber  to-night,  sire,"  he  said,  "  there 
was  a  question  about  your  marriage." 

I  perceived  at  once  the  malice  which  inspired  his 
remark,  but  I  answered  him  gaily,  and  in  a  tone  that 
was  in  harmony  with  the  scene. 

"  I  wish  to  heaven,"  said  I,  "  there  were  a  ques- 
tion about  it  anywhere  else.  Alas,  it  is  a  certainty." 

"  Why,  so  is  death,  sire,"  cried  Varvilliers,  "  but 
we  do  not  discuss  it  at  supper." 

"  Does  M.  de  Varvilliers  quarrel  with  my  choice 


A   CHASE   OF   TWO    PHANTOMS. 


I97 


of  a  subject?"  asked  Welters.  He  spoke  calmly 
now,  but  it  was  not  hard  to  discern  his  great  ex- 
citement. 

"  I  quarrel,  sir,  with  nobody  except  quarrellers," 
answered  the  Frenchman  impatiently. 

"Well,  then "  began  Wetter. 

"  I  think  you  forget  my  presence,"  I  said  coldly, 
"and  this  lady's  also."  I  waved,  my  hand  toward 
Coralie.  She  lay  back  in  her  chair,  smiling  and  hold- 
ing an  unlighted  cigarette  between  her  fingers. 

"  I  forget,  sire,  neither  your  presence  nor  your 
due,"  said  Wetter.  With  that  he  took  a  pocket-book 
from  his  pocket  and  flung  it  on  the  table  before  me. 
"  There  is  my  debt,"  he  said. 

I  sat  back  in  my  chair  and  did  not  move. 

"  You  choose  a  strange  time  for  business,"  I  ob- 
served. "  Vohrenlorf,  see  what  is  in  this  pocket- 
book." 

Vohrenlorf  examined  it,  then  he  came  and  whis- 
pered in  my  ear,  "  Notes  for  90,000  marks."  It  was 
the  amount  Wetter  owed  me  with  accrued  interest. 
I  was  amazed.  He  could  not  have  raised  the  money 
except  at  a  most  extravagant  rate.  I  made  no  re- 
mark, but  I  knew  that  he  had  risked  ruin  by  this 
repayment,  and  I  knew  well  why  he  had  made  it. 
He  would  not  have  me  for  creditor  as  well  as  for 
king  and  rival. 

Varvilliers  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  he,  "  these  gentlemen  of 
the  Chamber  can  think  of  nothing  but  money.  Don't 
you  wonder  at  them,  mademoiselle?" 

"  Money  is  good  to  think  of,"  said  Coralie  re- 
flectively. 

"An  admirable  candour,  isn't  it,  sire?"  he  said, 
turning  to  me  and  pointing  to  Coralie. 


10,8  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

I  was  disturbed  and  out  of  humour.  Again  I  was 
in  conflict.  I  thought  of  what  she  was,  and  won- 
dered that  such  men,  and  men  so  placed,  as  Wetter 
and  I  should  quarrel  about  her ;  I  looked  in  her  face 
and  felt  a  momentary  conviction  that  all  the  world 
might  fall  to  righting  on  her  account ;  at  least  things 
more  absurd  have  surely  happened.  But  I  answered 
smoothly  and  composedly.  (That  trick  at  least  I 
had  learned.) 

"  Sincerity  is  our  hostess's  greatest  charm,"  said  I. 

Wetter  laughed  loudly  and  sneeringly.  Coralie 
turned  a  gaze  of  indifferent  curiosity  on  him.  He 
puzzled  her,  tiresomely  sometimes.  I  knew  that  he 
meant  an  insult.  My  blood  runs  hot  at  such  mo- 
ments. I  was  about  to  speak  when  Varvilliers  fore- 
stalled me.  He  leaned  across  the  table  and  said  in 
a  very  low  voice  to  Wetter : 

"  Sir,  his  Majesty  is  the  only  gentleman  in  For- 
stadt  who  can  not  resent  an  insult." 

I  recollect  well  little  Madame  Briande's  pale  face, 
as  she  half  rose  from  her  seat  with  clasped  hands. 
Coralie  still  smiled.  Vohrenlorf  was  red  and  fierce, 
with  his  hand 'on  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  Varvilliers 
was  calm,  cool,  polished  in  demeanour. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Wetter  sat  silent,  his  eyes 
intently  fixed  on  the  Vicomte's  face.  Then  he  said 
in  a  tone  as  low  as  Varvilliers'  had  been : 

"  I  think  his  Majesty  remembers  his  disabilities 
too  late — or  has  them  remembered  for  him." 

Vohrenlorf  rose  to  his  feet',  carried  away  by  anger 
and  excitement. 

"  Sir "  he  cried  loudly. 

"  Vohrenlorf,  be  quiet.  Sit  down,"  said  I.  "  M. 
Wetter  is  right." 

None  spoke.     Even  Coralie  seemed  affected  to 


A   CHASE   OF   TWO    PHANTOMS.  Io,g 

gravity ;  or  was  it  that  we  had  touched  the  spring 
of  her  dramatic  instinct?  After  a  few  minutes  I 
turned  to  Madame  Briande  and  introduced  some  in- 
different topic.  I  spoke  alone  and  found  no  answer. 
Coralie  was  now  regarding  me  with  obvious  curi- 
osity. 

"  The  air  of  this  room  is  hot,"  said  I.  "  Shouldn't 
we  be  better  in  the  other?  If  the  ladies  will  lead  the 
way,  we'll  follow  immediately." 

"  I'm  very  well  here,"  said  Coralie. 

"  Oblige  me,"  said  I,  rising  and  myself  opening 
the  door  that  led  to  the  inner  room. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  Coralie  passed  out, 
and  madame  followed  her.  I  closed  the  door  behind 
them  and,  turning,  faced  the  three  men.  Wetter 
stood  alone  by  the  mantelpiece ;  the  others  were  still 
near  the  table. 

"  In  everything  but  the  moment  of  his  remark 
M.  Wetter  was  right,"  said  I.  "  I  didn't  remember 
in  time  that  I  am  not  placed  as  other  men ;  I  will  not 
remember  it  now.  Varvilliers,  you  mustn't  be  con- 
cerned in  this.  Vohrenlorf,  I  put  myself  in  your 
hands." 

"  Good  God,  you  won't  fight  ? "  cried  Varvil- 
liers. 

"  Vohrenlorf  will  do  for  me  what  he  would  for 
any  gentleman  who  put  himself  in  his  hands,"  said  I. 

The  position  was  too  hard  for  young  Vohrenlorf. 
He  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  "  No,  no,  I  can't,"  he  muttered.  Wetter 
stood  still  as  a  rock,  looking  not  at  any  of  us,  but 
down  toward  the  floor.  Varvilliers  drank  a  glass  of 
wine  and  then  wiped  his  mustache  carefully  with  a 
napkin. 

"  Your  Majesty,"  said  he,  "  will  not  do  me  the 


\ 

200  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

injustice  to  suppose  that  I  am  not  in  everything  and 
most  readily  at  your  command.  But  I  would  beg 
the  honour  of  representing  your  Majesty  in  this  af- 
fair." 

"  Impossible !  "  said  I  briefly. 

"  Consider,  sire.  To  fight  you  is  ruin  to  M. 
Wetter." 

"  As  regards  that,  would  not  M.  Wetter  in  his 
turn  reflect  too  late  ?  "  I  asked  stiffly. 

Vohrenlorf  looked  up  with  a  hopeless  dazed  ex- 
pression. Varvilliers  was  at  a  loss.  Wetter's  figure 
and  face  were  still  unmoved.  A  sudden  idea  came 
into  my  head. 

"  There  is  no  need  for  M.  Wetter  to  be  ruined," 
said  I.  "  Whatever  the  result  may  be  it  shall  seem 
an  accident." 

Wetter  looked  up  with  a  quick  jerk  of  his  head.  I 
glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  In  four  hours  it  will  be  light,"  I  said.  "  Let  us 
meet  at  six  in  the  Garden  Pavilion  at  the  Palace. 
Varvilliers,  since  you  desire  to  assist  us,  I  have  no 
doubt  M.  Wetter  will  accept  your  services.  It  will 
be  well  to  have  no  more  present  than  necessary.  The 
Pavilion,  gentlemen,  I  need  hardly  remind  you,  is 
fitted  up  for  revolver  practice.  Well,  there  are  tar- 
gets at  each  end.  It  will  be  unfortunate,  but  not 
strange,  if  one  of  us  steps  carelessly  into  the  line  of 
fire." 

They  understood  my  idea.  But  Varvilliers  had  an 
objection. 

"  What  if  both  of  you  ?  "  he  asked,  lifting  his 
brows. 

"  That's  so  unlikely,"  said  I.  "  Come,  shall  it 
be  so?" 

Wetter  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and  bowed  low. 


A   CHASE   OF   TWO    PHANTOMS.  2OI 

"  I  am  at  his  Majesty's  orders,"  said  he.  He 
spoke  now  quite  calmly. 

Varvilliers  and  Vohrenlorf  seemed  to  regard  him 
with  a  sort  of  wonder.  At  the  risk  of  ridicule  I  must 
confess  to  something  of  the  same  feeling.  A  bullet 
is  no  respecter  of  persons,  and  has  no  sympathy 
with  ideas  which  (as  the  Englishman  observes)  it 
is  hardly  unjust  to  call  mediaeval.  Yes,  even  I  my- 
self was  a  little  surprised  that  Wetter  should  meet 
me  in  a  duel.  But,  while  I  was  surprised,  I  was 
glad. 

"  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  M.  Wetter,"  I  said, 
returning  his  bow,  "  in  that  he  does  not  insist  on 
my  disabilities." 

For  the  briefest  moment  he  smiled  at  me ;  I  think 
my  speech  touched  his  humour.  Then  he  grew  grave 
again,  and  thanked  Varvilliers  formally  for  the  offer 
of  his  services. 

"  There  remains  but  one  thing,"  said  I.  "  We 
must  assure  the  ladies  that  any  difference  of  opinion 
there  was  between  us  is  entirely  past.  Let  us  join 
them." 

Vohrenlorf  opened  the  door  of  the  inner  room 
and  I  entered,  the  rest  following.  Madame  Briande 
sat  in  a  straight-backed  chair  at  the  table ;  she  had  a 
book  before  her,  but  her  restless  anxious  air  made 
me  doubt  whether  she  had  read  much  of  it.  I  looked 
round  for  Coralie.  There  on  the  sofa  she  lay,  her 
head  resting  luxuriously  on  the  cushions  and  her 
bosom  rising  and  falling  in  gentle  regular  breathing. 
The  affair  had  not  been  interesting  enough  to  keep 
Coralie  awake.  But  now  Vohrenlorf  shut  the  door 
rather  noisily ;  she  opened  her  eyes,  stretched  her 
arms  and  yawned. 

"Ah!     You've  done  quarrelling?"  she  asked. 
14 


202  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  Absolutely.  We're  all  friends  again,  and  have 
come  to  say  farewell/' 

"  Well,  I'm  very  sleepy,"  said  she,  with  much 
resignation.  "  Go  and  sleep  well,  my  friends.v 

"  We're  forgiven  for  our  bad  manners  ? " 

"  Oh,  but  you  were  very  amusing.  You're  all 
going  home  now?  " 

"  So  we  propose,  mademoiselle." 

Her  eyes  chanced  to  fall  on  Wetter.  She  pointed 
her  finger  at  him  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  What  makes  you  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  my  friend  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  It's  late ;  I'm  tired,"  he  answered  lamely  and 
awkwardly. 

She  turned  a  shrewd  glance  on  me.  I  smiled 
composedly. 

"  Ah,  well,  it's  no  affair  of  mine,"  she  said. 

In  turn  we  took  farewell  of  her  and  of  madame. 
But,  as  I  was  going  out,  she  called  me. 

"  In  a  minute,  Vohrenlorf,"  I  cried,  waving  my 
hand  toward  the  door.  The  rest  passed  -out.  Ma- 
dame had  wandered  restlessly  to  the  fireplace  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room.  I  returned  to  Coralie's 
sofa. 

"  You're  going  too  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  said  I.  "  I  must  rest.  I  have  to 
rise  early,  and  it's  close  on  two  o'clock." 

"  You  don't  look  sleepy." 

"  I  depart  from  duty,  not  from  inclination." 

"  You'll  come  to  see  me  to-morrow?  " 

"  If  I  possibly  can.    Could  you  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  And  why  might  you  possibly  not  be  able  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  man  of  many  occupations." 

"  Yes.    Quarrelling  with  Wetter  is  one." 

"  Indeed  that's  all  over." 


A   CHASE   OF   TWO    PHANTOMS. 


203 


"  Fm  not  sure  I  believe  you." 

"  You  reduce  me  to  despair.  How  can  I  con- 
vince you  ?  " 

Madame  Briande  walked  suddenly  to  the  door 
and  went  out.  I  heard  her  invite  Vohrenlorf  to 
take  a  glass  of  cognac,  and  his  ready  acceptance. 
Coralie  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  now,  looking  at  me 
curiously. 

"  I  have  liked  you  very  much,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  You  are  a  good  fellow,  a  good  friend.  I  don't 
know  how  it  is — I  feel  uncomfortable  to-night.  Will 
you  draw  back  a  curtain  and  open  a  window?  It's 
hot." 

I  obeyed  her ;  the  cool  night  air  rushed  in  on 
us,  fresh  and  delicious.  She  drew  her  legs  up  side- 
ways on  the  sofa,  clasping  her  ankles  with  her 
hand. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  she  cried  impatiently,  "  how 
sometimes  one  is  uncomfortable  and  doesn't  know 
why?  It  seems  as  though  something  was  going  to 
happen,  one's  money  to  be  lost,  or  one's  friends  to 
die  or  go  away ;  that  somehow  they  had  misfortunes 
preparing  for  one." 

"  I  know  the  feeling  well  enough,  but  I'm  sure 
you  needn't  have  it  to-night." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It  doesn't  come  without 
a  reason.  You've  no  superstitions,  I  suppose?  I 
have  many;  as  a  child  I  learned  them  all.  They're 
never  wrong.  Yes,  something  is  to  happen." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  laughed. 

"  You'll  come  to-morrow  ?  "  she  asked,  with  in- 
creased and  most  unusual  urgency. 

"  If  possible,"  I  answered  again. 

"  But  why  won't  you  promise  ?  Why  do  you  al- 
ways say  '  if  possible  '  ?  You're  tiresome  with  your 


204 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


*  if  possible/  ':  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  petu- 
lantly. 

"  I  might  be  ill." 

"  Yes,  and  you  might  be  dead,  but —  She 

had  begun  petulantly  and  impatiently,  as  though  she 
were  angry  at  my  excuse  and  meant  to  exhibit  its 
absurdity.  But  now  she  stopped  suddenly.  In  the 
pause  the  wind  moaned. 

"  I  hate  that  sound,"  she  cried  resentfully.  "  It 
comes  from  the  souls  of  the  dead  as  they  fly  through 
the  air.  They  fly  round  and  round  the  houses,  crying 
to  those  who  must  join  them  soon." 

"  Ah,  well,  these  people  were,  doubtless,  often 
wrong  when  they  were  alive.  Why  must  they  be 
always  right  when  they're  dead  ?  " 

"  No,  death  is  near  to-night.  I  wish  you  would 
stay  with  me — here,  talking  and  forgetting  it's  night. 
I  would  make  you  coffee  and  sing  to  you.  We 
would  shut  the  window  and  light  all  the  lights,  and 
pretend  it  was  day." 

"  I  can't  stay,"  I  said.  "  I  must  get  back.  I 
have  business  early." 

It  is  difficult  to  be  in  contact  with  such  a  mood 
as  hers  was  that  night  and  not  catch  something 
of  its  infection.  Reason  protests,  but  imagination 
falls  a  ready  prey.  I  had  no  fear,  but  a  sombre  ap- 
prehension of  evil  settled  on  me.  I  seemed  to  know 
that  our  season  of  thoughtless,  reckless  merriment 
was  done,  and  I  mourned  for  it.  There  came  over 
me  a  sorrow  for  her,  but  I  made  no  attempt  to  ex- 
press what  she  certainly  would  not  have  understood. 
To  feel  for  others  what  they  do  not  feel  for  them- 
selves is  a  distortion  of  sympathy  which  often  af- 
flicts me.  Her  discomfort  was  purely  childish,  a 
sudden  fear  of  the  dark  night,  the  dark  world,  the 


A   CHASE   OF   TWO   PHANTOMS.  205 

ways  of  fortune  so  dark  and  unknowable.  No  self- 
questioning  and  no  sting  of  conscience  had  any  part 
in  it.  She  had  been  happy,  and  she  wanted  to  go 
on  being  happy;  but  now  she  was  afraid  she  was 
going  to  be  unhappy,  and  she  shrank  from  unhappi- 
ness  as  from  a  toothache.  I  took  her  hand  and  kissed 
and  caressed  it. 

"  Go  to  bed,  my  dear,"  said  I.  "  You'll  be  laugh- 
ing at  this  in  the  morning.  And  poor  Vohrenlorf  is 
waiting  all  this  while  for  me." 

"  Go,  then.    You  may  kiss  me  though." 

I  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

"  Your  lips  are  very  hot,"  she  said.  "  Yet  you 
look  cool  enough." 

"  I  am  even  rather  cold.  I  must  walk  home  brisk- 
ly. Good-night." 

"  You'll  make  it  up  with  poor  Wetter?  " 

"  Indeed  our  difference  is  over,  or  all  but  over." 

"  Good.  I  hate  my  friends  to  quarrel  seriously. 
As  for  a  little,  it's  amusing  enough." 

With  that  she  let  me  go.  The  last  I  saw  of  her 
was  as  she  ran  hastily  across  the  room,  slammed 
down  the  window,  and  drew  the  curtain  across  it. 
She  was  afraid  of  hearing  more  of  those  voices  of 
the  night  that  frightened  her.  I  thought  with  a  smile 
that  candles  would  burn  about  her  bed  till  she  woke 
to  rejoice  in  the  sun's  new  birth.  Ah,  well,  I  myself 
do  not  love  a  blank  darkness. 

Vohrenlorf  and  I  walked  home  together.  We  en- 
tered by  the  gardens,  the  sentry  saluting  us  and  open- 
ing the  gate.  There  was  the  Pavilion  rising  behind 
my  apartments,  a  long,  high,  glass-roofed  building. 
The  sight  of  it  recalled  my  thought  from  Coralie  to 
the  work  of  the  morning.  I  nodded  my  head  toward 
the  building  and  said  to  Vohrenlorf: 


2o6  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  There's  our  rendezvous." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  turned  to  me  with  his  lips 
quivering. 

"  What's  the  matter,  man  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  For  God's  sake,  sire,  don't  do  it.  Send  him  a 
message.  You  mustn't  do  it." 

"  My  good  Vohrenlorf,  you  are  mad,"  said  I. 

Yet  not  Vohrenlorf  was  mad,  but  I,  mad  with  the 
vision  of  my  two  phantoms — freedom  and  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DECIDEDLY   MEDIAEVAL. 

I  WAS  in  the  Garden  Pavilion  only  the  other  morn- 
ing with  one  of  my  sons,  teaching  him  how  to  use 
his  weapons.  Suddenly  he  pointed  at  a  bullet-mark 
not  in  any  of  the  targets,  but  in  the  wainscoting 
above  and  a  little  to  the  right  of  them. 

"  There's  a  bad  shot,  father !  "  he  cried. 

"  But  you  don't  know  what  he  aimed  at,"  I  ob- 
jected. 

"  At  a  target,  of  course !  " 

"  But  perhaps  his  target  was  differently  placed. 
That  shot  is  many  years  old." 

"  Anyhow  he  missed  what  he  shot  at,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  struck  the  wainscoting,"  the  boy  per- 
sisted. 

"  Why,  yes,  he  missed,  but  he  may  have  missed 
only  by  a  hair's  breadth." 

"  Do  you  know  who  fired  the  shot?  " 

"  Yes.  It's  a  strange  story ;  perhaps  you  shall 
hear  it  some  day." 

This  little  scene  recalled  with  vividness  my  mem- 
ories of  the  morning  when  Wetter  and  I  met  in  the 
Pavilion.  I  had  hit  on  a  good  plan.  I  was  known 
to  practise  often,  and  Wetter  was  given  to  the  same 
pursuit.  Indeed  we  had  shot  against  one  another  in 
club  matches  before  now,  and  come  off  very  equal. 

207 


208  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

It  was  not  likely  that  suspicion  would  be  aroused ; 
the  very  early  hour  was  our  vulnerable  point,  but 
this  could  not  be  helped.  Had  we  come  later,  we 
should  have  been  pestered  by  attendants  and  mark- 
ers. In  other  respects  the  ordinary  arrangements  for 
matches  suited  our  purpose  well.  There  was  a  tar- 
get at  either  end  of  the  Pavilion;  each  man  chose 
an  end  to  fire  from.  When  he  had  discharged  his 
bullet  he  retreated  to  a  little  shelter,  of  which  there 
were  two  at  each  end,  one  for  the  shooter,  one  for  the 
marker.  His  opponent  then  did  the  like.  To  ac- 
count for  what  was  meant  to  occur  this  morning 
we  had  only  to  make  it  believed  that  one  of  us,  Wet- 
ter or  I,  as  chance  willed,  had  incautiously  stepped 
out  of  his  shelter  at  the  wrong  time.  To  render 
this  plausible  we  agreed  to  pretend  a  misunderstand- 
ing; the  man  hit  was  to  have  thought  that  his  op- 
ponent would  fire  only  one  shot,  the  man  who  es- 
caped would  express  deepest  regret,  but  maintain 
that  the  arrangement  had  been  for  two  successive 
shots.  I  had  very  little  doubt  that  these  arrange- 
ments for  baffling  inconvenient  inquiry  would  prove 
thoroughly  adequate.  For  the  rest,  I  made  up  a 
packet  for  Varvilliers  containing  a  present  for  Co- 
ralie.  To  make  any  other  preparations  would  not 
have  been  fair  to  Wetter;  for  my  death,  if  it  hap- 
pened, must  seem  absolutely  accidental.  After  all 
I  did  not  feel  such  confidence  in  my  value  to  the 
country,  or  in  my  wisdom,  as  to  desire  to  leave  my 
last  will  and  testament.  Victoria  would  do  very  well, 
no  doubt.  It  was  odd  to  think  of  her  sleeping  peace- 
fully in  the  opposite  wing,  without  an  idea  that  any- 
thing touching  her  fortunes  was  being  done  in  the 
Garden  Pavilion. 

The  external  scene  is  clearer  to  me  than  the  pic- 


DECIDEDLY   MEDIEVAL. 


209 


ttire  of  my  own  mind ;  yet  there  also  I  can  trace  the 
main  outlines.  The  heat  of  passion  was  past ;  I  was 
no  longer  in  the  stir  of  rivalry.  I  knew  that  it  was 
through  and  because  of  Coralie  that  I  had  come 
into  this  position,  and  that  Wetter  had  done  what 
he  had.  But  the  thought  of  her,  and  the  desire  to 
conquer  him  in  her  favour  or  punish  him  for  seek- 
ing it,  were  no  more  my  foremost  impulses.  I  can 
claim  no  feeling  so  natural,  so  instinctive,  so  par- 
donable because  so  natural.  I  was  angry  with  him. 
I  had  waived  my  rank  and  set  aside  my  state ;  that 
still  I  was  eager  and  glad  to  do ;  but  I  waived  them 
and  forgot  them,  because  only  thus  could  I  avenge 
them.  By  his  challenge,  his  insult,  his  defiance,  he 
had  violated  what  I  held  sacred  in  me,  and  almost 
the  only  thing  that  I  held  sacred.  I  hear  now  the 
Englishman's  mocking  epithet  in  my  ears — "  Medi- 
aeval !  "  I  did  not  hear  it  then.  Wetter  had  insulted 
the  King;  the  King  would  cease  to  be  the  King  to 
punish  him.  I  had  this  cool  anger  in  my  heart  when 
I  went  with  Vohrenlorf  to  the  Pavilion  at  six  in 
the  morning.  But  half  the  bitterness  of  it  was  due 
to  my  own  inmost  knowledge  that  my  acts  had  led 
him  on ;  that,  if  he  had  committed  the  sacrilege,  my 
hand  had  flung  open  the  doors  of  the  shrine.  He 
had  defaced  the  image ;  it  was  I  who  had  taught  him 
no  more'  to  reverence  it.  Because  he  reminded  me 
of  this,  I  thought  that  I  hated  him,  as  we  took  our 
way  to  the  Pavilion. 

Men  who  have  been  through  many  of  these  affairs 
have  told  me  that  on  the  first  occasion  they  felt  some 
fear,  or,  at  least,  an  excitement  so  great  as  to  seem 
like  fear.  I  recollect  no  such  feeling.  This  was  not 
because  I  was  especially  courageous  or  more  indiffer- 
ent to  death  than  other  men ;  it  did  not  occur  to  me 


2io  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

that  I  should  be  killed  or  even  hit.  Coralie  had  a 
strong  presentiment  of  evil  for  some  one ;  I  had  none 
for  myself.  If  she  were  right,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
Wetter's  fate  must  prove  her  so. 

The  other  pair  came  punctually.  They  had  en- 
countered some  slight  obstacle  in  entering.  The 
sentry  had  been  seized  with  scruples,  and  the  officer 
of  the  guard  had  been  summoned.  Varvilliers  plead- 
ed an  express  appointment  with  me,  and  the  officer, 
surprised  but  conquered,  had  let  them  pass.  All  this 
Varvilliers  told  us  in  his  usual  airy  manner,  Wetter 
sitting  apart  the  while.  The  clock  struck  a  quarter 
past  six. 

"  We  waste  time,  Vicomte,"  said  I,  and  I  sat 
down  in  a  chair,  leaving  him  to  make  the  arrange- 
ments with  Vohrenlorf,  or,  rather,  to  announce  them 
to  Vohrenlorf ;  for  my  second  was  unmanned  by  the 
business,  and  had  quite  lost  his  composure. 

Varvilliers  had  just  measured  the  distance  and 
settled  the  places  where  we  were  to  stand,  when  there 
was  a  step  outside  and  a  knock  at  the  door.  The 
seconds  looked  round.  Wetter  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Open  it,  Vohrenlorf.  We're  doing  nothing  se- 
cret," I  said,  with  a  smile. 

Varvilliers  nodded  approvingly. 

"  But  our  visitor  mustn't  stay  long,"  he  observed. 

"  It's  one  of  my  privileges  to  send  people  away," 
said  I  reassuringly. 

The  door  opened,  and  in  walked  William  Adol- 
phus!  He  was  in  riding  boots  and  carried  a  whip. 
It  was  his  custom  to  rise  early  for  a  gallop  in 
the  park ;  he  must  have  heard  our  voices  as  he 
passed  by. 

"  You're  early,"  he  cried  in  boisterous  merriment. 
"What's  afoot?" 


DECIDEDLY   MEDIAEVAL.  2II 

"  Why,  a  wager  between  Wetter  and  myself,"  I 
answered.  "  A  match." 

"What  for?" 

"  Upon  my  word,  we  haven't  fixed  the  stakes ; 
it's  pure  rivalry."  Then  I*  began  to  laugh.  "  How 
odd  you  should  come !  "  I  said.  Indeed  it  seemed 
strange,  for,  if  the  whole  affair  were  traced  back  to 
the  egg,  William  Adolphus'  flirtation  was  the  origin 
of  it.  His  appearance  had  the  appropriateness  of  an 
ironically  witty  comment  on  some  hot-headed  folly. 

"  I've  half  a  mind  to  stay  and  see  you  shoot." 

"  By  no  means ;  you'd  make  me  nervous." 

"  I'll  bet  a  hundred  marks  on  Wetter." 

"  I  take  you  there,"  said  I.  "  But  I  hear  your 
horse  being  walked  up  and  down  outside." 

"  Yes,  he's  there." 

"  It's  a  chilly  morning.  Don't  keep  him  waiting. 
Vohrenlorf,  see  the  Prince  mounted." 

Varvilliers  laughed  ;  even  Wetter  smiled. 

"  All  right,  you  needn't  be  in  such  a  hurry.  I'm 
going,"  said  William  Adolphus. 

"  But  I'm  glad  you  came,"  said  I,  laughing  again, 
and,  as  the  door  closed  behind  him,  I  added,  "  Most 
lucky !  His  evidence  will  be  invaluable.  Fortune  is 
with  us,  Varvilliers." 

"  A  man  of  ready  wit  is  with  us,  sire,"  he  an- 
swered in  his  pleasant  courtliness ;  then,  as  we  heard 
William  Adolphus  trotting  off  and  Vohrenlorf  came 
back,  he  went  on,  "  All  is  ready." 

Wetter  seemed  absolutely  composed.  I  marvelled 
at  his  composure.  No  doubt  his  ideas  were  not  medi- 
aeval, as  mine  were;  yet  it  seemed  strange  to  me 
that  he  should  fire  at  me  as  he  would  at  any  other 
man.  I  did  not  then  understand  the  despair  which 
underlay  his  iron  quietness.  I  was  set  thinking, 


212  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

though,  the  next  moment,  when  Varvilliers  stepped 
forward  holding  a  pair  of  single-barrelled  pistols. 
Wetter  opened  his  lips  for  the  first  time : 

"  Why  not  revolvers  ?  " 

"  If  we  allow  a  second  shot,  Vohrenlorf  and  I 
will  reload.  Pardon,  sire,  have  you  any  other  weapon 
about  you  ?  " 

I  answered  "  No,"  and  Wetter  made  the  same 
reply  to  a  like  question.  But  I  had  seen  a  sudden 
change  pass  over  his  face  when  he  was  told  that  re- 
volvers were  not  to  be  used.  An  idea  entered  my 
head  and  would  not  be  dislodged ;  a  man  might  fire 
more  calmly  at  the  King  if  he  were  resolved  in  no 
case  to  outlive  the  King.  I  said  nothing ;  what  could 
I  say  or  do  now  ?  But  strangely  and  suddenly,  under 
the  influence  of  this  thought,  my  anger  died  away. 
I  saw  with  his  eyes  and  felt  with  his  heart ;  I  saw 
how  he  stood,  and  I  knew  that  I  had  brought  him 
to  that  pass.  Was  it  strange  that  he  fired  at  me 
without  faltering,  although  I  might  be  ten  times  a 
king?  It  seemed  to  me  almost  just  that  he  should 
kill  me.  Varvilliers  would  not  give  him  a  revolver. 
Did  Varvilliers  also  suspect?  I  think  his  fear  was 
rather  of  our  extreme  rage  against  one  another.  It 
occurred  to  me  that  I  would  not  aim  at  my  oppo- 
nent. But  then  I  thought  I  had  no  right  to  act 
thus ;  it  would  make  matters  worse  for  him  if  I  fell. 
Besides  my  own  life  did  not  seem  to  me  a  thing  to 
be  thrown  away  lightly. 

Varvilliers  produced  another  pair  of  pistols,  simi- 
lar to  those  which  Wetter  and  I  now  held.  He  loaded 
both,  fired  them  into  the  targets,  and  placed  one  on 
a  shelf  at  either  end  of  the  room. 

"  Those  are  the  first  shots.  You  understand  ? 
The  gentleman  who  is  hit  made  the  mistake  of  not 


DECIDEDLY    MEDIEVAL. 


2I3 


expecting  a  second  shot.  Now,  sire — if  you  are 
ready?" 

We  took  up  our  positions,  each  six  feet  in  front 
of  the  targets ;  a  bullet  which  hit  me  would,  but  for 
the  interruption,  have  struck  on,  or  directly  above 
or  below,  the  outermost  target  on  the  right-hand 
side. 

Vohrenlorf  and  Varvilliers  stood  on  either  side 
of  the  room ;  the  latter  was  to  give  the  signal.  In- 
deed Vohrenlorf  could  not  have  been  trusted  with 
such  a  duty. 

"  I  shall  say  fire,  one — two — three,"  said  Varvil- 
liers. "  You  will  both  fire  before  the  last  word  is 
ended.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

We  signified  our  assent.  Wetter  was  pale,  but 
apparently  quite  collected.  I  was  very  much  alive 
to  every  impression.  For  example,  I  noticed  a  man's 
tread  outside  and  the  tune  that  he  was  whistling.  I 
lifted  my  pistol  and  took  aim.  At  that  moment  I 
meant  to  kill  Wetter  if  I  could,  and  I  thought  that 
I  could.  It  did  not  even  occur  to  me  that  I  was  in 
any  serious  danger  myself. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  Now !  "  said  Varvilliers,  in  his 
smooth  distinct  tones. 

I  looked  straight  into  Wetter's  eyes,  and  I  did 
not  doubt  that  I  could  send  my  bullet  as  straight 
as  my  glance.  I  felt  that  I  saw  before  me  a  dead 
man. 

I  am  unable  to  give  even  to  myself  any  satisfac- 
tory explanation  of  my  next  act.  It  was  done  under 
an  impulse  so  instantaneous)  so  single,  so  simply 
powerful  as  to  defy  analysis.  I  have  the  conscious- 
ness of  one  thought  or  feeling  only ;  but  even  to 
myself  it  seems  absurd  and  inadequate  to  account  for 
what  I  did.  Yet  I  can  give  no  other  reason.  I  had 


214  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

no  relenting  toward  Wetter  as  a  man,  as  companion, 
or  as  former  friend.  I  was  not  remorseful  about  my 
own  part  in  the  affair,  and  did  not  now  accuse  myself 
of  being  responsible  for  the  quarrel.  Suddenly — and 
I  record  the  feeling  for  what  it  is  worth — it  came 
upon  me  that  I  must  not  kill  him.  Why?  That 
Englishman  would  laugh.  I  am  inclined  to  laugh 
myself.  Well,  I  was  only  twenty-four,  and,  more- 
over, in  a  state  of  high  tension,  fresh  from  great  emo- 
tional excitement  and  a  sleepless  night.  Because  he 
was  one  of  my  people,  and  great  among  them ;  be- 
cause he  might  do  great  things  for  them;  because 
he  was  one  of  those  given  to  me,  for  whom  I  was 
answerable.  I  can  get  no  nearer  to  it — it  was  some- 
thing of  that  kind.  Some  conception  of  it  may  be 
gained  if  I  say  that  I  have  never  signed  a  death-war- 
rant without  a  struggle  against  a  somewhat  similar 
feeling.  Whatever  it  was,  it  resulted  in  an  inability 
to  try  to  kill  him.  As  Varvijliers'  voice  pronounced 
in  clear  quiet  tones  "  Fire !  "  I  shifted  my  aim  gently 
and  imperceptibly.  If  it  were  true  now,  the  ball 
would  pass  his  ear  and  bury  itself  in  the  wainscoting 
behind. 

"  One — two — three !  " 

I  fired  on  the  last  word ;  I  saw  the  smoke  of  Wet- 
ter's  pistol ;  he  stood  motionless.  In  an  instant  I 
felt  myself  hit.  I  was  amazed.  I  was  hit,  shot 
through  the  body,  I  staggered,  and  should  have 
fallen ;  Vohrenlorf  ran  to  me,  and  I  sank  back  in  his 
arms.  My  head  was  clear,  and  I  saw  the  order  of 
events  that  followed.  Varvilliers  also  had  started 
toward  me.  Suddenly  he  stopped.  Wetter  had 
rushed  across  the  room  toward  where  the  cartridges 
lay.  Varvilliers  sprang  upon  him  and  caught  him 
resolutely  by  the  shoulders.  I  myself  cried,  "  Stop 


"On  my  honour,  a  pure  accident,"  said  Varvilliers. 


DECIDEDLY    MEDLEVAL. 


215 


him !  "  even  as  I  sank  on  the  ground,  my  shoulders 
propped  up  against  the  wall.  Before  more  could 
happen  there  was  a  loud  rapping  at  the  door,  and  the 
handle  was  twisted  furiously.  Somebody  cried,  "  Go 
for  a  doctor !  "  Then  came  Varvilliers'  voice,  "  You 
go,  Wetter.  We  trust  you  to  go.  Who  the  devil's 
at  the  door?"  He  sprang  across  and  opened  it. 
Vohrenlorf  was  asking  me  in  trembling  whispers 
where  I  was  hit.  I  paid  no  heed  to  him.  The  door 
opened,  and  to  my  amazement  William  Adolphus 
ran  in,  closely  followed  by  Coralie  Mansoni.  I  was 
past  speaking,  soon  I  became  past  consciousness. 
The  last  I  remember  is  that  Coralie  was  kneeling 
by  me,  Vohrenlorf  still  supporting  me,  the  rest  stand- 
ing round.  Yet,  though  I  did  not  know  it,  I  spoke. 
Varvilliers  told  me  afterward  that  I  muttered,  "  An 
accident — my  fault."  I  heard  what  they  said,  though 
I  was  unconscious  of  speaking  myself. 

"  It  wasn't !  "  Coralie  cried. 

"  On  my  honour,  a  pure  accident,"  said  Varvil- 
liers. 

Then  the  whole  scene  faded  away  from  me. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  Wetter's  in- 
tention to  take  his  own  life  in  case  he  hit  me.  I  had 
discovered  this  resolution ;  Varvilliers  was  not  be- 
hind me.  Had  revolvers  been  employed  no  power 
could  have  hindered  Wetter  from  carrying  out  his 
purpose.  But  Varvilliers  had  prevented  this,  and  by 
despatching  my  antagonist  to  seek  medical  aid  had 
put  him  on  his  parole.  He  returned  with  one  of  my 
surgeons  in  a  very  short  space  of  time ;  perhaps  the 
desperate  fit  had  passed  then,  perhaps  he  had  come 
to  feel  that  he  must  face  the  consequences  of  his  act. 
I  know  that  Varvilliers  spoke  to  him  again  and  very 
urgently,  obtaining  at  last  a  pledge  from  him  that 


2i6  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

he  would  at  least  await  the  verdict  on  my  case.  But 
when  he  had  fired  at  me  he  had  considered  him- 
self as  a  man  in  any  event  doomed  to  death.  We 
are  strangely  at  fault  in  our  forecasts  of  fate.  He 
was  uninjured;  I,  who  had  been  confident  of  escap- 
ing unhurt,  lay  on  the  edge  between  life  and  death. 
My  presentiment  was  signally  falsified. 

But  we  must  be  just  even  to  superstitions.  I  had 
my  presentiment,  and  it  was  wrong.  Coralie  Man- 
soni  also  had  hers,  and  most  unfortunately,  for  from 
hers  came  the  sole  danger  that  threatened  the  suc- 
cess of  our  scheme  and  impaired  the  perfection  of 
our  pretences.  Had  William  Adolphus  been  a  man 
of  strong  will  no  harm  would  have  been  done ;  but 
he  was  as  wax  in  her  hands.  When  he  left  us,  he 
went  on  his  ride,  and  in  the  park  he  met  her,  driv- 
ing herself  in  her  little  pony-chaise.  She  had  been 
quite  unable  to  sleep,  she  said,  and  had  been  tempted 
by  the  fine  morning;  had  he  seen  the  King?  Wil- 
liam Adolphus,  without  a  thought  of  indiscretion, 
described  how  he  had  found  us  in  the  Pavilion.  In 
an  instant  her  mind,  inflamed  by  her  fancies  and 
readily  suspicious,  was  on  fire  with  fear ;  fear  turned 
to  an  instinctive  certainty.  My  brother-in-law  was 
amazed  at  her  agitation ;  she  swept  away  his  oppo- 
sition ;  he  must  take  her  to  the  Pavilion,  or  she  would 
go  alone ;  nothing  else  would  serve.  But  he  should 
have  held  her  where  she  was  by  main  force  rather 
than  bring  her;  the  one  fatal  thing  was  to  allow 
her  to  appear  in  the  affair  at  all.  He  could  not  with- 
stand her;  he  did  not  know  the  extent  of  his  error, 
but  he  knew  that  to  bring  her  within  the  precincts 
of  the  palace  was  a  sore  indiscretion.  She  overbore 
him ;  they  burst  together  into  the  room,  as  I  have 
described.  And,  being  there,  she  would  not  go,  and 


DECIDEDLY   MEDIAEVAL. 


was  seen  by  two  doctors,  by  Baptiste,  and  by  the 
shooting-master,  who  came  to  carry  me  to  my  apart- 
ments. Then  at  last  Varvilliers  prevailed  on  her  to 
allow  herself  to  be  smuggled  out  through  the  back 
gate  of  the  gardens,  and  himself  took  her  to  her  house 
in  a  condition  of  great  distress  and  collapse.  She,  at 
least,  was  not  deceived  by  the  pretence  of  an  accident. 

Were  other  people?  I  feel  myself  on  doubtful 
ground.  What  was  said  at  the  moment  I  know  only 
by  hearsay,  for  I  was  incapable  of  attending  to  any- 
thing for  three  months.  There  was  an  enormous 
amount  of  gossip  and  of  talk ;  there  were,  I  think, 
many  hints  and  smiles ;  there  were  hundreds  of  peo- 
ple who  knew  the  truth,  but  were  careful  not  to 
submit  their  versions  to  the  test  of  publicity.  But 
what  could  be  done?  Varvilliers  and  Vohrenlorf, 
men  of  unblemished  honour,  were  firm  in  their  as- 
sertions and  unshaken  in  their  evidence ;  Wetter's 
obvious  consternation  at  the  event  was  invoked  as 
confirmatory  evidence.  As  soon  as  I  was  able  to 
give  my  account,  my  voice  and  authority  were  cast 
decisively  into  the  same  scale.  Men  might  suspect 
and  women  might  gossip.-  Nothing  could  be  done; 
and  as  soon  as  the  first  stir  was  over,  Wetter  left  for 
a  tour  abroad  without  any  opposition,  and  carrying 
with  him  a  good  deal  of  sympathy.  The  King's  own 
carelessness  was  of  course  responsible,  but  it  was 
very  terrible  for  Wetter,  so  they  said. 

But  a  point  remains ;  how  did  we  account  for 
Coralie  and  the  presence  of  Coralie?  In  fact  we 
never  did  account  very  satisfactorily  for  Coralie. 
We  sacrificed — or  rather  Varvilliers  and  Vohrenlorf 
sacrificed — William  Adolphus  without  hesitation, 
saying  truly  enough  that  he  had  brought  her.  Vic- 
toria was  extremely  angry  and  my  brother-in-law 
15 


2i8  THE   KING'S  MIRROR. 

much  aggrieved.  But  I  must  admit  that  the  story 
met  with  very  hesitating  acceptance.  Some  denied 
it  altogether,  the  more  clear-sighted  perceived  that, 
even  were  its  truth  allowed,  it  presupposed  rrfore  than 
it  told.  There  was  something  in  the  background ; 
that  was  what  everybody  thought.  What?  That 
was  what  nobody  knew.  However  I  am  afraid  that 
there  were  quite  enough  suspicion  and  enough  talk 
to  justify  my  English  friend  in  his  remark  about  the 
one  or  two  scandals  which  attached  themselves  to 
my  name.  I  beg  leave  to  hope  that  his  charitable 
expression  of  surprise  that  there  were  not  more  may 
be  considered  equally  well  justified. 

While  I  lay  ill,  Princess  Heinrich  was  the  domi- 
nant influence  in  the  administration  of  affairs.  When 
I  recovered,  I  found  that  Coralie  Mansoni  was  no 
longer  playing  in  Forstadt,  and  had  left  the  town 
some  weeks  before.  I  put  no  questions  to  my 
mother.  I  also  found  that  Varvilliers  had  resigned 
his  official  position  in  the  French  service,  and  re- 
mained in  Forstadt  as  a  private  person.  Here  again, 
at  Varvilliers'  own  request,  I  put  no  questions  to  my 
mother.  Finally  I  was  informed  that  the  Barten- 
steins  had  offered  themselves  for  a  visit.  Again  I 
put  no  questions  to  my  mpther.  I  determined,  how- 
ever, not  to  be  laid  on  the  shelf  again  for  three 
months,  if  I  could  help  it. 

Such  is  the  history  of  my  secret  duel  with  Wet- 
ter and  of  my  acquaintance  with  Coralie  Mansoni 
up  to  the  date  of  that  occurrence.  Such  also  is  the 
story  of  that  apparently  very  bad  shot  which  my  little 
son  found  in  the  wainscoting  of  the  Garden  Pavilion. 
But  it  was  not  such  a  very  bad  shot ;  not  everybody 
would  have  gone  so  near  and  yet  made  sure  of  not 
hitting. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WILLIAM    ADOLPHUS    HITS    THE    MARK. 

AT  Artenberg,  whither  we  went  when  I  was  con- 
valescent, the  family  atmosphere  recalled  old  days. 
We  were  all  in  disgrace — Victoria  because  she  had 
not  managed  her  husband  better,  William  Adolphus 
for  behaviour  confessedly  scandalous,  I  by  reason  of 
those  rumours  at  which  I  have  hinted.  My  sister 
and  brother-in-law  were  told  of  their  faults  and 
warned,  the  one  against  professors,  the  other  against 
actresses.  My  delinquencies  were  treated  with  ab- 
solute silence.  Princess  Heinrich  reminded  me  how 
I  had  degraded  my  office  by  a  studious,  though  cold, 
deference  toward  it  on  her  own  part.  The  king 
was  the  king,  be  he  never  so  unruly.  His  mother 
could  only  disapprove  and  grieve  in  silence.  But 
in  the  hands  of  Princess  Heinrich  silence  was  a 
trenchant  weapon.  William  Adolphus  also  was  very 
sulky  with  me.  I  found  some  excuse  for  him.  To- 
ward his  wife  he  wore  a  hang-dog  air;  from  Prin- 
cess Heinrich  he  fairly  ran  away  whenever  he  could. 
In  these  relations  toward  one  another  we  settled 
down  to  pass  a  couple  of  summer  months  at  Arten- 
berg. Now  was  early  July.  In  August  would  come 
the  visit  of  the  Bartensteins. 

Beside  this  great  fact  all  else  troubled  me  little. 
I  fell  victim  to  an  engrossing  selfishness.  The  quar- 

219 


22O  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

rels  and  woes  of  my  kindred  went  unnoticed,  except 
when  they  served  for  a  moment's  amusement.  To 
the  fortunes  of  those  with  whom  I  had  lately  been 
so  much  concerned,  of  Wetter  and  of  Coralie,  I  was 
almost  indifferent.  Varvilliers  wrote  to  me,  and  I 
answered  in  friendly  fashion,  but  I  did  not  at  that 
time  desire  his  presence.  So  far  as  my  thoughts 
dwelt  on  the  past,  they  overleaped  what  was  imme- 
diately behind,  and  took  me  back  to  my  first  rebel- 
lion, my  first  struggle  against  the  fate  of  my  life, 
my  first  refusal  to  run  into  the  mould.  I  remem- 
bered my  Governor's  comforting  assurance  that  I 
had  still  six  years ;  I  remembered  the  dedication  of 
my  early  love  to  the  Countess.  Then  I  had  cher- 
ished delusions,  thinking  that  the  fate  might  be 
avoided.  Herein  lay  the  sincerity  and  honesty  of  that 
first  attachment,  and  an  enduring  quality  which  made 
good  for  it  its  footing  in  memory.  In  it  I  was  not 
passing  the  time  or  merely  yielding  to  a  desire  for 
enjoyment.  I  was  struggling  with  necessity.  The 
high  issue  had  seemed  to  lend  some  dignity  even  to 
a  boy's  raw  love-making,  a  dignity  that  shone  dimly 
through  thick  folds  of  encircling  absurdity.  I  had 
not  been  particularly  absurd  in  regard  to  Coralie 
Mansoni,  but  neither  had  there  been  in  that  affair 
any  redeeming  worthiness  or  dignity  of  conception 
or  of  struggle.  Now  all  seemed  over,  struggle  and 
waywardness,  the  dignified  and  undignified,  the  ab- 
surdly pathetic  and  the  recklessly  impulsive.  The 
six  years  were  nearly  gone.  Princess  Heinrich's 
steady  pressure  contracted  their  extent  by  some 
months.  The  coming  of  the  Bartensteins  was  immi- 
nent. The  era  of  Elsa  began. 

Old  Prince  Hammerfeldt  had  left  a  successor  be- 
hind him  in  the  person  of  his  nephew,  Baron  von 


WILLIAM   ADOLPHUS   HITS   THE   MARK.      22I 

Bederhof,  and  this  gentleman  was  now  my  Chancel- 
lor and  my  chief  official  adviser.  He  was  a  portly 
man  of  about  fifty,  with  red  cheeks  and  black  hair. 
He  was  high  in  favour  with  my  mother,  the  hus- 
band of  a  buxom  wife,  and  the  father  of  nine  children. 
As  is  not  unusual  in  cases  of  hereditary  succession, 
he  was  adequate  to  his  office,  although  he  would 
certainly  not  have  been  selected  for  it  unless  he  had 
been  his  uncle's  nephew;  but,  being  the  depositary 
of  Hammerfeldt's  traditions  (although  not  of  his 
brains),  he  contrived  to  pass  muster.  He  came  at 
this  time  to  Artenberg,  and  urged  on  me  the  neces- 
sity of  a  speedy  marriage. 

"  The  recent  danger,  so  providentially  averted," 
he  said,  "  is  a  stronger  argument  than  any  I  could 
use." 

"  It  certainly  is,"  said  I  politely.  As  a  fact,  it 
might  be  stronger  than  any  he  would  be  likely  to 
use,  and  yet  not  be  impregnable. 

"  For  the  sake  of  your  people,  sire,  do  not  delay." 

"  My  dear  Baron,"  said  I,  "  send  for  the  young 
lady  to-morrow.  I  haven't  seen  her  since  she  was  a 
child,  so  let  her  bring  a  letter  of  identification." 

"  You  joke !  "  said  he.  "  There  can  be  no  doubt. 
Her  parents  will  accompany  her." 

"  True,  true !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  relief. 
"  There  will  be  really  no  substantial  risk  of  having 
an  impostor  planted  on  us." 

"  I  am  confident,"  observed  Bederhof,  "  that  the 
marriage  will  be  most  happy." 

"You  are?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  sire." 

"  Then  we  won't  lose  a  moment,"  I  cried. 

Bederhof  looked  slightly  puzzled,  but  also  rather 
complimented.  He  cleared  his  throat  (if  only  he 


222  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

could  have  cleared  his  head  as  often  and  as  thor- 
oughly as  he  did  his  throat !)  and  asked,  "  Er — there 
are  no  complications  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Baron." 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  suggest  it,  but  people  do  talk. 
I  mean — no  other  attachment  ?  " 

"  I  have  yet  to  learn,  Baron,"  said  I  with  dignity, 
"  that  such  a  thing,  even  if  it  existed,  would  be  of 
any  importance  compared  to  the  welfare  of  the  king- 
dom and  the  dynasty." 

"  Not  of  the  least !  "  he  cried  hastily. 

"  I  never  suspected  you  of  such  a  paradox  really," 
I  assured  him  with  a  smile.  "  And  if  the  lady  should 
harbour  such  a  thing  that  would  be  of  equal  insig- 
nificance." 

"  My  uncle,  the  Prince —     "  he  began. 

"  Knew  all  this  just  as  well  as  we  do,  my  dear 
Baron,"  I  interrupted.  "  Come,  send  for  Princess 
Elsa.  I  am  all  impatience." 

Even  the  stupidest  of  men  may  puzzle  a  careful 
observer  on  one  point — as  to  the  extent  of  his  stupid- 
ity. I  did  not  always  know  whether  Bederhof  was 
so  superlatively  dull  as  to  believe  a  thing,  or  merely 
so  permissibly  dull  as  to  consider  that  he  ought  to 
pretend  to  believe  it.  Perhaps  he  had  come  himself 
not  to  know  the  difference  between  the  two  atti- 
tudes ;  certain  ecclesiastics  would  furnish  an  illus- 
tration of  what  I  mean.  Princess  Heinrich's  was 
quite  another  complexion  of  mind.  She  assumed 
a  belief  with  as  much  conscious  art  as  a  bonnet  or  a 
mantle ;  just  as  you  knew  that  the  natural  woman 
beneath  was  different* from  the  garment  which  cov- 
ered her,  so  you  were  aware  that  my  mother's  real 
opinion  was  absolutely  diverse  from  the  view  she 
professed.  In  both  cases  propriety  forbade  any  refer- 


WILLIAM   ADOLPHUS   HITS   THE   MARK.      223 

ence  to  the  natural  naked  substratum.  The  Princess, 
with  an  art  that  scorned  concealment,  congratulated 
me  upon  my  approaching  happiness,  declared  that 
the  marriage  was  one  of  inclination,  and,  having 
paid  it  this  seemly  tribute,  at  once  fell  to  discussing 
how  the  public  would  receive  it.  I  believe,  however, 
that  she  detected  in  me  a  certain  depression  of  spirits, 
for  she  rallied  me  (again  with  a  superb  ignoring 
of  what  we  were  both  aware  of)  on  being  moped  at 
the  moment  when  I  should  have  been  exultant. 

"  I  am  looking  at  it  from  Elsa's  point  of  view," 
I  explained. 

"  Elsa's  ?  Really  I  don't  see  that  Elsa  has  any- 
thing to  complain  of.  The  position's  beyond  what 
she  had  any  right  to  expect." 

All  was  well  with  Elsa;  that  seemed  evident 
enough ;  it  was  a  better  position  than  Elsa  had  any 
right  to  expect.  Poor  dear, child,  I  seemed  to  see 
her  rolling  down  the  bank  again,  expecting  and  de- 
siring no  other  position  than  to  be  on  her  back, 
with  her  little  legs  twinkling  about  in  the  air. 

"  I  think,"  said  I  meditatively,  "  that  it  would  be 
a  good  thing  if,  in  providing  wives,  they  reverted 
to  the  original  plan  and  took  out  a  rib.  One  wouldn't 
feel  that  one's  rib  had  any  .particular  right  to  com- 
plain at  having  its  fortunes  mixed  up  with  one's 
own." 

My  mother  remained  silent.  I  looked  across  the 
terrace  and  saw  Victoria's  three-year-old  girl  playing 
about. 

!<  The  child's  so  like  William  Adolphus,"  said  I, 
sighing. 

My  mother  rose  with  deliberate  carelessness  and 
walked  away. 

It  may  be  wondered  why  I  did  not  rebel.    I  must 


224 


THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 


answer,  first,  from  the  binding  force  of  familiarity; 
I  hated  the  thing,  but  it  had  made  good  its  place 
in  the  map  of  my  life ;  secondly,  from  the  impossi- 
bility of  inflicting  a  slight ;  thirdly,  because  I  rather 
chose  to  bear  the  ills  I  had  than  fly  to  others  that 
I  knew  not  of.  Who  revolts  save  in  the  glowing 
hope  of  bettering  his  lot  ?  I  must  marry ;  who  was 
there  to  be  preferred  before  Elsa?  It  did  not  occur 
to  me  that  I  might  remain  single ;  I  should  have 
shared  the  general  opinion  that  such  an  act  was  lit- 
tle removed  from  treason.  It  would  not  only  be  to 
end  my  own  line,  it  would  be  to  install  the  children 
of  William  Adolphus.  I  did  not  grant  even  a  mo- 
ment's hospitality  to  such  an  idea.  Bederhof  was 
right,  the  marriage  was  urgent ;  I  must  marry — just 
as  occasionally  I  was  compelled  to  review  the  troops. 
I  had  as  little  aptitude  for  one  duty  as  for  the  other, 
but  both  were  among  my  obligations.  I  was  so 
rooted  in  this  attitude  that  I  turned  to  Victoria  with 
a  start  of  surprise  when  she  said  to  me  one  day : 

"  She's  very  pretty ;  I  daresay  you'll  fall  in  love 
with  her." 

She  was  pretty,  if  her  last  portrait  spoke  truth; 
she  was  a  slim  girl,  .of  very  graceful  figure,  with 
small  features  and  large  blue  eyes,  which  were  merry 
in  the  picture,  but  looked  as  if  they  could  be  sad 
also.  I  had  studied  this  attractive  shape  attentively ; 
yet  Victoria's  suggestion  seemed  preposterous,  in- 
congruous— I  had  nearly  said  improper.  A  moment 
later  it  set  me  laughing. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall/'  I  said  with  a  chuckle. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  amusing  in  the  idea,"  ob- 
served Victoria.  "  I  think  you're  being  given  a  much 
better  chance  than  I  ever  had." 

The  old  grudge  was  working  in  her  mind;  by 


WILLIAM    ADOLPHUS   HITS   THE    MARK.      22$ 

covert  allusion  she  was  recalling  the  part  I  had  taken 
in  the  arrangement  of  her  future.  Yet  she  had  con- 
trived to  be  jealous  of  her  husband;  that  old  puzzle 
recurs. 

"  I  suppose/'  I  mused,  "  that  I'm  having  a  very 
good  chance."  I  looked  inquiringly  at  my  sister. 

"  If  you  use  it  properly.  You  can  be  very  pleas- 
ant to  women  when  you  like.  She's  sure  to  come 
ready  to  fall  in  love  with  you.  She's  such  a  child." 

"  You  mean  that  she'll  have  no  standard  of  com- 
parison ?  " 

"  She  can't  have  had  any  experience  at  all." 

"  Not  even  a  baron  over  at  Waldenweiter  ?  " 

"  What  a  fool  I  was  !  "  reflected  Victoria.  "Moth- 
er was  horrid,  though,"  she  added  a  moment  later. 
She  never  allowed  the  perception  of  her  own  folly 
to  plead  on  behalf  of  Princess  Heinrich.  "  I  ex- 
pect you'll  go  mad  about  her,"  she  resumed.  "  You 
see,  any  woman  can  manage  you,  Augustin.  Think 
of " 

"  Thanks,  dear,  I  remember  them  all/'  I  inter- 
posed. 

"  The  question  is,  how  will  mother  treat  her," 
pronounced  Victoria. 

It  was  not  the  question  at  all ;  that  Victoria 
thought  it  was  merely  illustrated  the  Princess's  per- 
sistent dominance  over  her  daughter's  imagination. 
I  allow,  however,  that  it  was  an  interesting,  although 
subordinate  speculation. 

The  Bartensteins'  present  visit  was  to  be  as  pri- 
vate as  possible.  The  arrangement  was  that  Elsa 
and  I  should  be  left  to  roam  about  the  woods  to- 
gether, to  become  well  known  to  one  another,  and 
after  about  three  weeks  to  fall  in  love.  The  Duke 
was  not  to  be  of  the  party  on  this  occasion  (wise 


226  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

Duke !)  and,  when  I  had  made  my  proposal,  mother 
and  daughter  would  return  home  to  receive  the  fa- 
ther's blessing  and  to  wait  while  the  business  was 
settled.  When  all  was  finished,  I  should  receive  my 
bride  in  state  at  Forstadt,  and  the  wedding  would  be 
solemnized.  In  reply  to  my  questions  Bederhof  ad- 
mitted that  he  could  not  at  present  fix  the  final  event 
within  a  fortnight  or  so;  he  did  not,  however,  con- 
sider this  trifling  uncertainty  material. 

"  No  more  do  I,  my  dear  Baron,"  said  I. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "  is  the  picture  of  your  Majesty 
which  Princess  Heinrich  has  just  sent  to  Barten- 
stein." 

I  looked  at  the  lanky  figure,  the  long  face,  and 
the  pained  smile  which  I  had  presented  to  the  camera. 

"  Good  gracious !  "  I  murmured  softly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sire?" 

"  It  is  very  like  me." 

"  An  admirable  picture." 

What  in  the  world  was  Elsa  feeling  about  it? 
Thanks  to  this  picture,  I  was  roused  from  the  mood 
of  pure  self-regard  and  allowed  my  mind  to  ask  how 
the  world  was  looking  to  Elsa.  I  did  not  find  en- 
couragement in  the  only  answer  that  I  could  hon- 
estly give  to  my  question. 

Just  at  this  time  I  received  a  letter  from  Varvil- 
liers  containing  intelligence  which  was  not  only  inter- 
esting in  itself,  but  seemed  to  possess  a  peculiar  ap- 
positeness.  He  had  heard  from  Coralie  Mansoni, 
and  she  announced  to  him  her  marriage  with  a  promi- 
nent operatic  impresario.  "  You  have  perhaps  seen 
the  fellow,"  Varvilliers  wrote.  "  He  has  small  black 
eyes  and  large  black  whiskers ;  his  stomach  is  very 
big,  but,  for  shame  or  for  what  reason  I  know  not, 
he  hides  it  behind  a  bigger  gold  locket.  Coralie 


WILLIAM   ADOLPHUS    HITS   THE   MARK. 


227 


detests  him,  but  it  has  been  her  ambition  to  sing 
in  grand  opera.  '  It  is  my  career,  mon  cher,'  she 
writes.  Behold,  sentiment  is  sacrificed,  and  we  shall 
hear  her  in  Wagner !  She  thinks  that  she  performs 
a  duty,  and  she  is  almost  sure  that  it  need  not  be 
very  onerous.  She  is  a  sensible  woman,  our  dear 
Coralie.  For  the  rest  I  have  no  news  save  that  Wet- 
ter is  said  to  have  broken  the  bank  at  baccarat,  and 
may  be  expected  shortly  to  return  home  and  resume 
his  task  of  improving  the  condition  and  morals  of 
the  people.  I  hear  reports  of  your  Majesty  that  oc- 
casion me  concern.  But  courage!  Coralie  has  led 
the  way !  " 

"  Come,"  said  I  to  myself  aloud,  "  if  Coralie,  al- 
though she  detests  him,  yet  for  her  career's  sake 
marries  him,  it  little  becomes  me  to  make  wry  faces. 
Haven't  I  also,  in  my  small  way,  a  career  ?  " 

But  Coralie  hoped  that  her  duty  would  not  be 
very  onerous.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  that.  The 
difference  there  was  in  temperament,  not  circum- 
stances. 

I  have  kept  the  Duchess  and  Elsa  an  intolerably 
long  while  on  their  journey  to  Artenberg.  In  fact 
they  came  quickly  and  directly ;  we  were  advised  of 
their  start,  and  two  days  of  uncomfortable  excite- 
ment brought  us  to  the  hour  of  their  arrival.  For 
once  in  her  life  Princess  Heinrich  betrayed  signs  of 
disturbance;  to  my  wonder  I  detected  an  undis- 
guised look  of  appeal  in  her  eyes  as  she  watched  me 
at  my  luncheon  which  I  took  with  her  on  the  fate- 
ful day.  I  understood  that  she  was  imploring  me 
to  treat  the  occasion  properly,  and  that  its  impor- 
tance had  driven  her  from  her  wonted  reserve.  I 
endeavoured  to  reassure  her  by  a  light  and  cheerful 
demeanour,  but  my  effort  was  not  successful  enough 


228  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

to  prevent  her  from  saying  a  few  words  to  me  after 
the  meal.  I  assured  her  that  Elsa  should  receive 
from  me  the  most  delicate  respect. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  your  being  too  precipitate," 
she  said.  "  It's  not  that." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  be  too  precipitate,"  I  agreed. 

"  But  remember  that — that  she's  quite  a  girl, 
and  " — my  mother  broke  off,  looked  at  me  for  a 
moment,  and  then  looked  away — "  she'll  like  you  if 
you  make  her  think  you  like  her,"  she  went  on  in  a 
moment. 

I  seemed  suddenly  to  see  the  true  woman  and 
to  hear  the  true  opinion.  The  crisis  then  was  great ; 
my  mother  had  dropped  the  veil  and  thrown  aside 
her  finished  art. 

"  I  hope  to  like  her  very  much,"  said  I. 

Princess  Heinrich  was  a  resolute  woman  ;  the  path 
on  which  she  set  her  foot  she  trod  to  the  end. 

"  I  know  what  you've  persuaded  yourself  you  feel 
about  it,"  she  said  bluntly  and  rather  scornfully. 
"  Well,  don't  let  her  see  that." 

"  She  would  refuse  me?  " 

"  No.  She'd  marry  you  and  hate  you  for  it. 
Above  all,  don't  laugh  at  her." 

I  sat  silently  looking  at  Princess  Heinrich. 

"  You're  so  strange,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know 
what's  made  you  so.  Have  you  no  feelings  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that?  "  I  asked,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  she  answered  defiantly.  "  You  were 
the  same  even  as  a  boy.  It  was  no  use  appealing  to 
your  affections." 

I  had  outgrown  my  taste  for  wrangles.  But  I 
certainly  did  not  recollect  that  either  Krak  or  my 
mother  had  been  in  the  habit  of  appealing  to  my 
affections;  Krak's  appeals,  at  least,  had  been  ad- 


WILLIAM    ADOLPHUS    HITS   THE    MARK.      229 

dressed  elsewhere.  Yet  my  mother  spoke  in  abso- 
lute sincerity. 

"  It's  only  just  at  first  that  it  matters,"  she  went 
on  in  a  calmer  tone.  "  Afterward  she  won't  mind. 
You'll  learn  not  to  expect  too  much  from  one  an- 
other." 

"  I  assure  you  that  lesson  is  already  laid  to  my 
heart,"  said  I,  rising. 

My  mother  ended  the  interview  and  resumed  her 
mask.  She  called  Victoria  to  her  and  sent  her  to 
make  a  personal  inspection  of  the  quarters  prepared 
for  our  guests.  I  sat  waiting  on  the  terrace,  while 
William  Adolphus  wandered  about  in  a  state  of  con- 
scious and  wretched  superfluousness.  I  believe  that 
Victoria  had  forbidden  him  to  smoke. 

They  came;  there  ensued  some  moments  of  em- 
bracing. Good  Cousin  Elizabeth  was  squarer  and 
stouter  than  six  years  ago.  Her  cheeks  had  not 
lost  their  ruddy  hue.  She  was  a  favourite  of  mine, 
and  I  was  glad  to  find  that  her  manner  had  not  lost 
its  heartiness  as  she  kissed  me  affectionately  on  both 
cheeks.  At  the  same  time  there  was  a  difference. 
Cousin  Elizabeth  was  a  little  flurried  and  a  little 
apologetic.  When  she  turned  to  Elsa  I  saw  her 
eye  run  in  a  rapid  anxious  glance  over  her  daughter's 
raiment.  Then  she  led  her  forward. 

"  She's  changed  since  you  saw  her  last,  isn't 
she  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  mixture  of  pride  and  uneasi- 
ness. "  But  you've  seen  photographs,  of  course,"  she 
added  immediately. 

I  bent  low  and  kissed  my  cousin's  hand.  She 
was  very  visibly  embarrassed,  and  her  cheeks  turned 
red.  She  glanced  at  her  mother  as  though  asking 
what  she  ought  to  do.  In  the  end  she  shook  hands 
and  glanced  again,  apparently  in  a  sudden  eonvic- 


230  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

tion  that  she  had  done  the  wrong  thing.  There  can 
be  very  little  doubt  that  we  ought  to  have  kissed 
one  another  on  the  cheek.  Victoria  came  up,  and 
I  turned  away  to  give  my  arm  to  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth. .:,. 

"  She's  so  young,"  whispered  Cousin  Elizabeth, 
hugging  my  arm. 

"  She's  a  very  pretty  girl,"  said  I,  responsively 
pressing  Cousin  Elizabeth's  fingers. 

Cousin  Elizabeth  smiled,  and  I  felt  her  pat  my 
arm  ever  so  gently.  I  could  not  help  smiling,  in 
spite  of  my  mother's  warning.  I  heard  Victoria 
chattering  merrily  to  Elsa.  A  gift  of  inconsequent 
chatter  is  by  no  means  without  its  place  in  the  world, 
although  we  may  prefer  that  others  should  supply 
the  commodity.  I  heard  Elsa's  bright  sweet  laugh 
in  answer.  She  was  much  more  comfortable  with 
Victoria.  A  minute  later  the  arrival  of  Victoria's 
little  girl  made  her  absolutely  happy. 

I  had  been  instructed  to  treat  the  Duchess  with 
the  most  distinguished  courtesy  and  the  highest 
tributes  of  respect.  My  mother  and  I  put  her  be- 
tween us  and  escorted  her  to  her  rooms.  Elsa,  it 
was  considered,  would  be  more  at  her  ease  without 
such  pomp.  My  mother  was  magnificent.  On  such 
occasions  she  shone.  Nevertheless  she  rather  alarmed 
honest  Cousin  Elizabeth.  A  perfect  manner  alarms 
many  people ;  it  seems  so  often  to  exhibit  an  un- 
holy remoteness  from  the  natural.  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth was,  I  believe,  rather  afraid  of  being  left  alone 
with  my  mother.  For  her  sake  I  rejoiced  to  meet 
her  servants  hurrying  up  to  her  assistance.  I  re- 
turned to  the  garden. 

Elsa  had  not  gone  in ;  she  sat  on  a  seat  with 
Victoria's  baby  in  her  arms.  Victoria  was  standing 


WILLIAM   ADOLPHUS   HITS   THE    MARK. 


231 


by,  telling  her  how  she  ought  and  ought  not  to  hold 
the  little  creature.  William  Adolphus  also  had  edged 
near  and  stood  hands  in  pockets,  with  a  broad  smile 
on  his  excellent  countenance.  I  paused  and  watched. 
He  drew  quite  near  to  Victoria ;  she  turned  her  head, 
spoke  to  him,  smiled  and  laughed  merrily.  Elsa 
tossed  and  tickled  the  baby ;  both  Victoria  and  Wil- 
liam Adolphus  looked  pleased  and  proud.  It  is  easy 
to  be  too  hard  on  life ;  one  should  make  a  habit 
of  reflecting  occasionally  out  of  what  very  unprom- 
ising materials  happiness  can  be  manufactured. 
These  four  beings  were  at  this  moment,  each  and  all 
of  them,  incontestably  happy.  Ah,  well,  I  must  go 
and  disturb  them ! 

I  walked  up  to  the  group.  On  the  sight  of  me 
Victoria  suppressed  her  kindliness  toward  her  hus- 
band ;  she  did  not  wish  me  to  make  the  mistake  of 
supposing  that  she  was  content.  William  Adolphus 
looked  supremely  ashamed  and  uncomfortable.  The 
child,  being  suddenly  snatched  by  her  mother,  puck- 
ered lips  and  brows  and  threatened  tears.  Elsa 
sprang  up  with  heightened  colour  and  stood  in  an 
attitude  of  uneasiness.  Why,  yes,  I  had  disturbed 
their  happiness  very  effectually. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  interrupt  you,"  I  pleaded. 

"  Nonsense ;  we  weren't  doing  anything/'  said 
Victoria.  "  I'll  show  you  your  rooms,  Elsa,  shall  I  ?  " 

Elsa,  I  believe,  would  have  elected  to  be  shown 
something  much  more  alarming  than  a  bedroom  in 
order  to  escape  from  my  presence.  She  accepted 
Victoria's  offer  with  obvious  thankfulness.  The  two 
went  off  with  the  baby.  William  Adolphus,  still 
rather  embarrassed,  took  out  a  cigar.  We  sat  down 
side  by  side  and  both  began  to  smoke.  There  was 
a  silence  for  several  moments. 


232 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


"  She's  a  pretty  girl/'  observed  my  brother-in- 
law  at  last. 

"  Very,"  I  agreed. 

"  Seems  a  bit  shy,  though,"  he  suggested,  with  a 
sidelong  glance  at  me. 

"  She  seemed  to  be  getting  on  very  well  with  you 
and  the  baby." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  was  all  right  then,"  said  William 
Adolphus. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  that  I  frighten  her  rather." 

William  Adolphus  took  a  long  pull  at  his  cigar, 
looked  at  the  ash  carefully,  and  then  gazed  for  some 
moments  across  the  river  toward  Waldenweiter.  It 
was  a  beautiful  evening,  and  my  eyes  followed  in  the 
same  direction.  Thus  we  sat  for  quite  a  long  time. 
Then  William  Adolphus  gave  a  laugh. 

"  She's  got  to  get  used  to  you,"  he  said. 

"  Precisely,"  said  I. 

For  that  was  pretty  Elsa's  task  in  life. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

GREAT    PROMOTION. 

I  SHOULD  be  doing  injustice  to  my  manners  and 
(a  more  serious  offence)  distorting  truth,  if  I  repre- 
sented myself  as  a  shy  gaby,  afraid  or  ashamed  to 
make  love  because  people  knew  the  business  on 
which  I  was  engaged.  Holding  a  position  like  mine 
has  at  least  the  virtue  of  curing  a  man  of  such  folly ; 
I  had  been  accustomed  to  be  looked  at  from  the  day 
I  put  on  breeches,  and,  thanks  to  unfamiliarity  with 
privacy,  had  come  not  to  expect  and  hardly  to  miss 
it.  The  trouble  was  unhappily  of  a  deeper  and  more 
obstinate  sort,  rooted  in  my  own  mind  and  not  due 
to  the  covert  stares  or  open  good-natured  interest 
of  those  who  surrounded  me.  There  is  a  quality 
which  is  the  sign  and  soul  of  high  and  genuine  pleas- 
ure, whether  of  mind  or  body,  of  sight,  feeling,  or 
imagination ;  I  mean  spontaneity.  This  character- 
istic, with  its  included  incidents  of  unexpectedness, 
of  suddenness,  often  of  unwisdom  and  too  entire 
absorption  in  the  moment,  comes,  I  take  it,  from 
a  natural  agreement  of  what  you  are  with  what  you 
do,  not  planned  or  made,  but  revealed  all  at  once 
and  full-grown ;  when  the  heart  finds  it,  it  knows 
that  it  is  satisfied.  The  action  fits  the  agent — the 
exercise  matches  the  faculty.  Thenceforward  what 
you  are  about  does  itself  without  your  aid,  but  pours 
16  233 


234  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

into  your  hand  the  treasure  that  rewards  success, 
the  very  blossom  of  life.  There  may  be  bitterness, 
reproaches,  stings  of  conscience,  or  remorse.  These 
things  are  due  to  other  claims  and  obligations,  arti- 
ficial, perhaps,  in  origin,  although  now  of  binding 
force.  Beneath  and  beyond  them  is  the  self-inspired 
harmony  of  your  nature  with  your  act,  sometimes 
proud  enough  to  claim  for  itself  a  justification  from 
the  mere  fact  of  existence,  oftener  content  to  give 
that  question  the  go-by,  whispering  softly,  "  What 
matters  that?  I  am." 

By  some  such  explanation  as  this,  possibly  not 
altogether  wide  of  the  mark,  I  sought  to  account  for 
my  disposition  in  the  days  that  followed  Elsa's  ar- 
rival. I  was  conscious  of  an  extreme  reluctance  to 
set  about  my  task.  I  have  used  the  right  word  there  ; 
a  task  it  seemed  to  me.  The  trail  of  business  and 
arrangement  was  over  it;  it  was  defaced  by  an  in- 
tolerable propriety,  ungraced  by  a  scrap  of  uncer- 
tainty ;  its  stages  had  been  marked,  numbered,  and 
catalogued  beforehand.  Bederhof  knew  the  wed- 
ding-day to  within  a  fortnight,  the  settlement  to  with- 
in a  shilling,  the  addresses  of  congratulation  to  a 
syllable.  To  this  knowledge  we  were  all  privy.  God 
save  us,  how  we  played  the  hypocrite ! 

I  am  fully  aware  that  there  are  men  to  whom 
these  feelings  would  not  have  occurred.  There  are 
probably  women  in  regard  to  whom  nobody  would 
have  experienced  them  in  a  very  keen  form.  In- 
sensibility is  infectious.  We  have  few  scruples  in 
regard  to  the  unscrupulous.  We  feel  that  the  exact 
shade  of  colour  is  immaterial  when  we  present  a  new 
coat  to  a  blind  man.  Had  Hammerfeldt  left  as  his 
legacy  the  union  with  some  rude  healthy  creature, 
to  follow  his  desire  might  have  been  an  easy  thing — 


GREAT    PROMOTION. 


235 


one  which,  on  a  broad  view  of  my  life,  would  have 
been  relatively  insignificant.  I  should  have  disliked 
my  duty  and  done  it,  as  I  did  a  thousand  things  I 
disliked.  But  I  should  not  have  been  afflicted  with 
the  sense  that  where  I  endured  ten  lashes  another  en- 
dured a  thousand;  that,  being  a  fellow-sufferer,  I 
seemed  the  executioner;  that,  myself  yearning  to 
be  free,  I  was  busied  in  forging  chains.  It  was  in  this 
light  that  Elsa  made  me  regard  myself,  so  that  every 
word  to  her  from  my  lips  seemed  a  threat,  every  ap- 
proach an  impertinence,  every  hour  of  company  I 
asked  a  forecast  of  the  lifelong  bondage  that  I  pre- 
pared for  her.  This  was  my  unhappy  mood,  while 
Victoria  laughed,  jested,  and  spurred  me  on ;  while 
William  Adolphus  opined  that  Elsa  must  get  used 
to  me ;  while  Cousin  Elizabeth  smiled  open  motherly 
encouragement  ;  while  Princess  Heinrich  moved 
through  the  appropriate  figures  as  though  she  graced 
a  stately  minuet.  I  had  come  to  look  for  little  love 
in  the  world ;  I  was  afflicted  with  the  new  terror  that 
I  must  be  hated. 

Yet  she  did  not  hate  me ;  or,  at  least,  our  natures 
were  not  such 'as  to  hate  one  another  or  to  be  re- 
pugnant naturally.  Nay,  I  believe  that  we  were  born 
to  be  good  and  appreciative  friends.  Sometimes  in 
those  early  days  we  found  a  sympathy  of  thought  that 
made  us  for  the  moment  intimate  and  easy,  forget- 
ful of  our  obligation,  and  frankly  pleased  with  the 
society  which  we  afforded  one  another.  Soon  I  came 
to  enjoy  these  intervals,  to  look  and  to  plan  for  them. 
In  them  I  seemed  to  get  glimpses  of  what  my  young 
cousin  ought  to  be  always ;  but  they  were  brief  and 
fleeting.  An  intrusion  ended  them ;  or,  more  often, 
they  were  doomed  to  perish  at  my  hands  or  at  hers. 
A  troubled  shyness  would  suddenly  eclipse  her  mirth ; 


236  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

or  I  would  be  seized  with  a  sense  that  my  cheating 
of  fate  was  useless,  and  served  only  to  make  the  fate 
more  bitter.  She  seemed  to  dread  any  growth  of 
friendship,  and  to  pull  herself  up  abruptly  when  she 
felt  in  danger  of  being  carried  away  into  a  genuine 
comradeship.  I  was  swiftly  responsive  to  such  an 
attitude;  again  we  drew  apart.  Here  is  an  extract 
from  a  letter  which  I  wrote  to  Varvilliers : 

"  MY  DEAR  VARVILLIERS  :  The  state  of  things 
here  is  absurd  enough.  My  cousin  and  I  can't  like, 
because  we  are  ordered  to  love ;  can't  be  friends,  be- 
cause we  must  be  mates  ;  can't  talk,  because  we  must 
flirt ;  can't  be  comfortable  alone  together,  because 
everybody  prepares  our  tete-a-tete  for  us.  She  is  in 
apprehension  of  an  amourousness  which  I  despair 
of  displaying;  I  am  ashamed  of  a  backwardness 
which  is  her  only  comfort.  And  the  audience  grows 
impatient;  had  the  gods  given  them  humour  they 
would  laugh  consumedly.  Surely  even  they  must 
smile  soon,  and  so  soon  as  they  smile  I  must  take 
the  leap;  for,  my  dear  friend,  we  may  be  privately 
unhappy,  but  we  must  not  be  publicly  ludicrous. 
To-day,  as  we  walked  a  yard  apart  along  the  terrace, 
I  seemed  to  see  a  smile  on  a  gardener's  face.  If  it 
were  of  benevolence,  matters  may  not  advance  just 
yet ;  if  I  conclude  that  amusement  inspired  it,  even 
before  you  receive  this  I  may  have  performed  my 
duty  and  she  her  sacrifice.'  Pray  laugh  at  and  for 
me  from  your  safe  distance ;  in  that  there  can  be  no 
harm.  I  laugh  myself  sometimes,  but  dare  not  risk 
sharing  my  laugh  with  Elsa.  She  has  humour,  but 
to  ask  her  to  turn  its  rays  on  this  situation  would 
be  too  venturous  a  stroke.  An  absolute  absorption 
in  the  tragic  aspect  is  probably  the  only  specific  which 


GREAT    PROMOTION.  237 

will  enable  her  to  endure.  Unhappily  the  support 
of  pure  tragedy,  with  its  dignity  of  unbroken  gloom, 
is  not  mine.  I  forget  sometimes  to  be  unhappy  in 
reflecting  that  I  am  damnably  ridiculous.  What,  I 
wonder,  were  the  feelings  of  Coralie  at  the  first  at- 
tentions of  her  big-bellied  impresario?  Did  stern 
devotion  nerve  her  ?  Was  her  face  pale  and  her  lips 
set  in  tragic  mode  ?  Or  did  she  smile  and  yawn  and 
drawl  and  shrug  in  her  old  delightful  fashion?  I 
would  give  much  to  be  furnished  with  details  of  this 
parallel.  Meanwhile  Bederhof  tears  his  hair,  for  I 
threaten  to  be  behind  time,  and  the  good  Duchess 
tells  me  thrice  daily  that  Elsa  is  timid.  Princess 
Heinrich  has  made  no  sign  yet ;  when  she  frowns 
I  must  kiss.  So  stands  the  matter.  I  must  go  hence 
to  pray  her  to  walk  in  the  woods  with  me.  She  will 
flush  and  flutter,  but,  poor  child,  she  will  come. 
What  I  ask  she  will  not  and  must  not  refuse.  But, 
deuce  take  it,  I  ask  so  little!  There's  the  rub!  I 
hear  your  upbraiding  voice,  '  Pooh,  man,  catch  her 
up  and  kiss  her ! '  Ah,  my  dear  Varvilliers,  you  suf- 
fer under  a  confusion.  She  is  a  duty ;  and  who  is 
impelled  by  duty  to  these  sudden  cuttings  of  a  knot  ? 
And  she  does  a  duty,  and  would  therefore  not  kiss  me 
in  return.  And  I  also,  doing  duty,  am  duty.  Thus 
we  are  both  of  us  strangled  in  the  black  coils  of  that 
belauded  serpent." 

I  did  not  tell  Varvilliers  everything.  Had  I  al- 
lowed myself  complete  unreserve  I  must  have  added 
that  she  charmed  me,  and  that  the  very  charm  I  found 
in  her  made  my  work  harder.  There  was  a  dainty 
delicacy  about  her,  the  freshness  of  a  flower  whose 
velvet  bloom  no  finger-touch  has  rubbed.  This  I  was 
to  destroy. 


238  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

But  at  last  from  fear,  not  of  the  gardener's  smiles, 
but  of  my  own  ridicule,  I  made  my  start,  and,  as  I 
foreshadowed  to  Varvilliers,  it  was  as  we  walked  in 
the  woods  that  I  began. 

"  What  of  that  grenadier?  "  I  asked  her — she  was 
sitting  on  a  seat,  while  I  leaned  against  a  tree-trunk 
— "  the  grenadier  you  were  in  love  with  when  I  was 
at  Bartenstein.  You  remember?  You  described  him 
to  me." 

She  blushed  and  laughed  a  little. 

"  He  married  a  maid  of  my  mother's,  and  became 
one  of  the  hall-porters.  He's  grown  so  fat." 

"  The  dream  is  ended  then?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it  ever  began,"  she  answered.  "  How 
amused  at  me  you  must  have  been !  " 

Suddenly  she  perceived  my  gaze  on  her,  and  her 
eyes  fell. 

"  He  was  Romance,  Elsa,"  said  I.  "  He  has  mar- 
ried and  grown  fat.  His  business  now  is  to  shut 
doors ;  he  has  shut  the  door  on  himself." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  half-puzzled,  half-embar- 
rassed. 

"  He  had  an  unsuccessful  rival,"  said  I.  "  Do 
you  recollect  him?  A  lanky  boy  whom  nobody 
cared  much  about.  Elsa,  the  grenadier  is  out  of  the 
question." 

Now  she  was  agitated  ;  but  she  sat  still  and  silent. 
I  moved  and  stood  before  her.  My  whole  desire  was 
to  mitigate  her  fear  and  shrinking.  She  looked  up 
at  me  gravely  and  steadily.  It  went  to  my  heart  that 
the  grenadier  was  out  of  the  question.  Her  lips  quiv- 
ered, but  she  maintained  a  tolerable  composure. 

"  You  should  not  say  that  about — about  the  lanky 
boy,  Augustin,"  said  she.  "  We  all  liked  him.  I 
liked  him." 


GREAT   PROMOTION.  239 

"  Well,  he  deserved  it  a  little  better  then  than 
now.  Yet  perhaps,  since  the  grenadier ' 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  about  the 
grenadier." 

"  Yes,  don't  you  ?  "  I  asked  with  a  smile.  "  No 
dreams,  Elsa,  that  you  told  to  nobody  ?  " 

She  flushed  for  a  moment,  then  she  smiled.  Her 
smiling  heartened  me,  and  I  went  on  in  lighter  vein. 

"  One  can  never  be  sure  of  being  miserable,"  I 
said. 

"  No,"  she  murmured  softly,  raising  her  eyes  a 
moment  to  mine.  The  glance  was  brief,  but  hinted 
a  coquetry  whose  natural  play  would  have  delighted 
— well,  the  grenadier. 

She  seemed  very  pretty,  sitting  there  in  the  half- 
shade,  with  the  sun  catching  her  fair  hair.  I  stood 
looking  down  on  her;  presently  her  eyes  rose  to 
mine. 

"  Not  of  being  absolutely  miserable,"  said  I. 

"  You  wouldn't  make  anybody  miserable.  You're 
kind.  Aren't  you  kind  ?  " 

She  grew  grave  as  she  put  her  question.  I  made 
her  no  answer  in  words  ;  I  bent  down,  took  her  hand, 
and  kissed  it.  I  held  it,  and  she  did  not  draw  it  away. 
I  looked  in  her  eyes ;  there  I  saw  the  alarm  and  the 
shrinking  that  I  had  expected.  But  to  my  wonder 
I  seemed  to  see  something  else.  There  was  excite- 
ment, a  sparkle  witnessed  to  it ;  I  should  scarcely 
be  wrong  if  I  called  it  triumph.  I  was  suddenly 
struck  with  the  idea  that  I  had  read  my  feelings  into 
her  too  completely.  It  might  be  an  exaggeration 
to  say  that  she  wished  to  marry  me,  but  was  there 
not  something  in  her  that  found  satisfaction  in  the 
thought  of  marrying  me?  I  remembered  with  a  new 
clearness  how  the  little  girl  who  rolled  down  the  hill 


240  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

had  thought  that  she  would  like  to  be  a  queen.  At 
that  moment  this  new  idea  of  her  brought  me  pure 
relief.  I  suppose  there  were  obvious  moralizings  to 
be  done;  it  was  also  possible  to  take  the  matter  to 
heart,  as  a  tribute  to  my  position  at  the  cost  of  my- 
self. I  felt  no  soreness,  and  I  did  no  moralizing. 
I  was  honestly  and  fully  glad  that  for  any  reason 
under  heaven  she  wished  to  marry  me. 

Moreover  this  touch  of  a  not  repulsive  worldli- 
ness  in  her  sapped  some  of  my  scruples.  What  I 
was  doing  no  longer  seemed  sacrilege.  She  had  one 
foot  on  earth  already  then,  this  pretty  Elsa,  lightly 
poised  perhaps,  and  quite  ethereal,  yet  in  the  end 
resting  on  this  common  earth  of  ours.  She  would 
get  used  to  me,  as  William  Adolphus  put  it,  all  the 
sooner.  I  took  courage.  The  spirit  of  the  scene 
gained  some  hold  on  me.  I  grew  less  repressed  in 
manner,  more  ardent  in  looks.  I  lost  my  old  desire 
not  to  magnify  what  I  felt.  The  coquetry  in  her 
waged  now  an  equal  battle  with  her  timidity. 

"  You're  sure  you  like  me?  "  she  asked. 

"  Is  it  incredible  ?  Have  they  never  told  you  how 
pretty  you  are  ?  " 

She  laughed  nervously,  but  with  evident  pleasure. 
Her  eyes  were  bright  with  excitement.  I  held  out 
my  hands,  and  she  put  hers  into  them.  I  drew  her 
to  me  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  cheek.  She 
shrank  suddenly  away  from  me. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  I  said,  smiling. 

"  I  am  frightened,"  she  answered,  with  a  look 
that  seemed  almost  like  defiance. 

"  Shall  we  say  nothing  about  it  for  a  little  while?  " 

This  proposal  did  not  seem  to  attract  her,  or  to 
touch  the  root  of  the  trouble,  if  trouble  there  were. 

"  I  must  tell  mother,"  she  said. 


GREAT    PROMOTION. 


241 


"  Then  we'll  tell  everybody."  I  saw  her  looking 
at  me  with  earnest  anxiety.  "  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  I'll 
do  what  I  can  to  make  you  happy." 

We  began  to  walk  back  through  the  wood  side 
by  side.  Less  on  my  guard  than  I  ought  to  have 
been,  I  allowed  myself  to  fall  into  a  reverie.  My 
thoughts  fled  back  to  previous  love-makings,  and, 
having  travelled  through  these,  fixed  themselves  on 
Varvilliers.  It  was  but  two  days  since  I  sent  him 
a  letter  almost  asserting  that  the  task  was  impossible 
to  achieve.  He  would  laugh  when  he  heard  of  its 
so  speedy  accomplishment.  I  began  in  my  own  mind 
to  tell  him  about  it,  for  I  had  come  to  like  telling 
him  my  states  of  feeling,  and  no  doubt  often  bored 
him  with  them ;  but  he  seemed  to  understand  them, 
and  in  his  constant  minimizing  of  their  importance 
I  found  a  comfort.  I  had  indeed  almost  followed 
the  advice  he  would  have  given  me — almost  taken 
her  up  and  kissed  her,  and  there  ended  the  matter. 
A  low  laugh  escaped  from  me. 

"Why  are  you  laughing?"  Elsa  asked,  turning 
to  me  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  I've  been  so  very  much  afraid  of  you,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  You  afraid  of  me !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  if  you 
only  knew  how  terrified  I've  been !  "  She  seemed 
to  be  seized  with  an  impulse  to  confidence.  "  It  was 
terrible  coming  here  to  see  whether  I  should  do,  you 
know." 

"  You  knew  you'd  do !  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Mother  always  told  me  I  mightn't. 
She  said  you  were — were  rather  peculiar." 

"  I  don't  know  enough  about  other  people  to  be 
able  to  say  whether  I'm  peculiar." 

She  laughed,  but  not  as  though  she  saw  any  point 


242 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


in  my  observation  (I  daresay  there  was  none),  and 
walked  on  a  few  yards,  smiling  still.  Then  she  said : 

"  Father  will  be  pleased." 

"  I  hope  everybody  will  be  pleased.  When  you 
go  to  Forstadt  the  whole  town  will  run  mad  over 
you." 

"What  will  they  do?" 

"  Oh,  what  won't  they  do  ?  Crowds,  cheers,  flow- 
ers, fireworks,  all  the  rest  of  it.  And  your  picture 
everywhere !  " 

She  drew  in  her  breath  in  a  long  sigh.  I  looked 
at  her  and  she  blushed. 

"You'll  like  that?"  I  asked  with  a  laugh. 

She  did  not  speak,  but  nodded  her  head  twice. 
Her  eyes  laughed  in  triumph.  She  seemed  happy 
now.  My  pestilent  perversity  gave  me  a  shock  of 
pain  for  her. 

When  we  came  near  the  house  she  asked  me  to 
let  her  go  alone  and  tell  her  mother.  I  had  no  ob- 
jection to  offer.  Indeed  I  was  glad  to  escape  a  hand- 
in-hand  appearance,  rather  recalling  the  footlights. 
She  started  off,  and  I  fell  into  a  slower  walk.  She 
almost  ran  with  a  rare  buoyancy  of  movement.  Once 
she  turned  her  head  and  waved  her  hand  to  me  mer- 
rily. I  waited  a  little  while  at  the  end  of  the  ter- 
race, and  then  effected  an  entry  into  my  room  un- 
perceived.  The  women  would  lose  no  time  in  telling 
one  another ;  then  there  would  be  a  bustle.  I  had 
now  a  quiet  half-hour.  By  a  movement  that  seemed 
inevitable  I  sat  down  at  my  writing-table  and  took  up 
a  pen.  For  several  minutes  I  sat  twirling  the  quill 
between  my  fingers.  Then  I  began  to  write : 

"  MY  DEAR  VARVILLIERS  :  The  impossible  has 
happened,  and  was  all  through  full  of  its  own  impos- 


GREAT   PROMOTION. 


243 


sibility.  I  have  done  it.  That  now  seems  a  little 
thing.  The  marvel  remains.  '  An  absolute  absorp- 
tion in  the  tragic  aspect ' — you  remember,  I  daresay, 
my  phrase ;  that  was  to  have  been  her  mood — seen 
through  my  coloured  glasses.  My  glasses !  Am  I 
not  too  blind  for  any  glasses?  She  has  just  left  me 
and  run  to  her  mother.  She  went  as  though  she 
would  dance.  She  is  merry  and  triumphant.  I  am 
employed  in  marvelling.  She  wants  to  be  a  queen ; 
processions  and  ovations  fill  her  eyes.  She  is  happy. 
I  would  be  happy  for  her  sake,  but  I  am  oppressed 
by  an  anticipation.  You  will  guess  it.  It  is  un- 
avoidable that  some  day  she  will  remember  myself. 
We  may  postpone,  but  we  can  not  prevent,  this  catas- 
trophe. What  I  am  in  myself,  and  what  I  mean  to 
her,  are  things  which  she  will  some  day  awake  to. 
I  have  to  wait  for  the  time.  Yet  that  she  is  happy 
now  is  something,  and  I  do  not  think  that  she  will 
awake  thoroughly  before  the  marriage.  There  is 
therefore,  as  you  will  perceive,  no  danger  of  any- 
thing interfering  with  the  auspicious  event.  My  dear 
friend,  let  us  ring  the  church  bells  and  sing  a  Te 
Deum;  and  the  Chancellor  shall  write  a  speech  con- 
cerning the  constant  and  peculiar  favour  of  God  to- 
ward my  family,  and  the  polite  piety  with  which  we 
have  always  requited  His  attentions.  For  just  now 
all  is  well.  She  sleeps. 

"  Your  faithful  friend, 

"  AUGUSTIN." 

I  had  just  finished  this  letter  when  Baptiste 
rushed  in,  exclaiming  that  the  Duchess  had  come, 
and  that  he  could  by  no  means  prevent  her  entry. 
The  truth  of  what  he  said  was  evident ;  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth herself  was  hard  on  his  heels.  She  almost  ran 


244  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

in,  and  made  at  me  with  wide-opened  arms.  Her 
honest  face  beamed  with  delight  as  she  folded  me  in 
an  enthusiastic  embrace.  Looking  over  her  shoul- 
der, I  observed  Baptiste  standing  in  a  respectful  atti- 
tude, but  struggling  with  a  smile. 

"  You  can  go,  Baptiste,"  said  I,  and  he  with- 
drew, smiling  still. 

"  My  dearest  Augustin,"  panted  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth, "  you  have  made  us  all  very,  very  happy.  It 
has  been  the  dream  of  my  life." 

I  forget  altogether  what  my  answer  was,  but  her 
words  struck  sharp  and  clear  on  my  mind.  That 
phrase  pursued  me.  It  had  been  the  dream  of  Max 
von  Sempach's  life  to  be  Ambassador.  There  had 
been  a  dream  in  his  wife's  life.  It  was  the  dream  of 
Coralie's  life  to  be  a  great  singer;  hence  came  the 
impresario  with  his  large  locket  and  the  rest.  And 
now,  quaintly  enough,  I  was  fulfilling  somebody 
else's  dream  of  life — Cousin  Elizabeth's !  Perhaps  I 
was  fulfilling  my  own ;  but  my  dream  of  life  was 
a  queer  vision. 

"  So  happy !  So  happy !  "  murmured  Cousin 
Elizabeth,  seeking  for  her  pocket-handkerchief.  At 
the  moment  came  another  flurried  entry  of  Baptiste. 
He  was  followed  by  my  mother.  Cousin  Elizabeth 
disengaged  herself  from  me.  Princess  Heinrich  came 
to  me  with  great  dignity.  I  kissed  her  hand ;  she 
kissed  my  forehead. 

"  Augustin,"  she  said,  "  you  have  made  us  all  very 
happy." 

The  same  note  was  struck  in  my  mother's  stately 
acknowledgment  and  in  Cousin  Elizabeth's  gushing 
joy.  I  chimed  in,  declaring  that  the  happiness  I  gave 
was  as  nothing  to  what  I  received.  My  mother  ap- 
peared to  consider  this  speech  proper  and  adequate, 


GREAT    PROMOTION.  245 

Cousin  Elizabeth  was  almost  overcome  by  it.  The 
letter  which  lay  on  the  table,  addressed  to  Varvil- 
liers,  was  fortunately  not  endowed  with  speech.  It 
would  have  jarred  our  harmony. 

Later  in  the  day  Victoria  came  to  see  me.  I  was 
sitting  in  the  window,  looking  down  on  the  river  and 
across  to  the  woods  of  Waldenweiter.  She  sat  down 
near  me  and  smiled  at  me.  Victoria  carried  with 
her  an  atmosphere  of  reality ;  she  neither  harboured 
the  sincere  delusions  of  Cousin  Elizabeth  nor  (save 
in  public)  sacrificed  with  my  mother  on  the  shrine 
of  propriety.  She  sat  there  and  smiled  at  me. 

"  My  dear  Victoria,"  said  I,  "  I  know  all  that  as 
well  as  you  do.  Didn't  we  go  through  it  all  before, 
when  you  marrie/l  William  Adolphus  ?  " 

"  I've  just  left  Elsa,"  my  sister  announced.  !t  The 
child's  really  half  off  her  head;  she  can't  grasp  it 
yet." 

"  She  is  excited,  I  suppose." 

"  It  seems  that  Cousin  Elizabeth  never  let  her 
count  upon  it." 

"  I  saw  that  she  was  pleased.  It  surprised  me 
rather." 

"  Don't  be  a  goose,  Augustin,"  said  Victoria  very 
crossly.  "  Of  course  she's  pleased." 

"  But  I  don't  think  she  cares  for  me  in  the  very 
least,"  said  I  gravely. 

For  a  moment  Victoria  stared.  Then  she  ob- 
served with  a  perfunctory  politeness : 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  say  that.  I'm  sure  she  does." 
She  paused  and  added :  "  Of  course  it's  great  pro- 
motion for  her." 

Great  promotion !  I  liked  Victoria's  phrase  very 
much.  Of  course  it  was  great  promotion  for  Elsa. 
No  wonder  she  was  pleased  and  danced  in  her  walk ; 


246 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


no  wonder  her  eyes  sparkled.  Nay,  it  was  small 
wonder  that  she  felt  a  kindliness  for  the  hand  whence 
came  this  great  promotion. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is — what  did  you  say?  Oh, 
yes — great  promotion,"  said  I  to  Victoria. 

"  Immense !    She  was  really  a  nobody  before." 

A  hint  of  jealousy  lurked  in  Victoria's  tones. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  like  the  prospect  of  being  no 
longer  at  the  head  of  Forstadt  society. 

"  There's  nobody  in  Europe  who  would  have  re- 
fused you,  I  suppose,"  she  pursued.  "  Yes,  she's 
lucky  with  a  vengeance." 

I  began  to  laugh.  Victoria  frowned  a  little,  as 
though  my  laughter  annoyed  her.  However  I  had 
my  laugh  out ;  the  picture  of  my  position,  sketched 
by  Victoria,  deserved  that.  Then  I  lit  a  cigarette  and 
stood  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  Poor  child !  "  said  I.    "  How  long  will  it  last?  " 

Victoria  made  no  answer.  She  sat  where  she  was 
for  a  few  moments ;  then  she  got  up,  flung  an  arm 
round  my  neck,  and  gave  me  a  brief  business-like 
kiss. 

"  I  never  knew  anybody  quite  so  good  as  you  at 
being  miserable,"  she  said. 

But  I  was  not  miserable.  I  was,  on  the  whole, 
very  considerably  relieved.  It  would  have  been  much 
worse  had  Elsa  really  manifested  an  absolute  ab- 
sorption in  the  tragic  aspect.  It  was  much  better 
that  her  thoughts  should  be  filled  by  her  great  pro- 
motion. 

I  heard  suddenly  the  sound  of  feet  on  the  ter- 
race. A  moment  later  loud  cheers  rang  out.  I 
looked  down  from  the  window.  There  was  a  throng 
of  the  household,  stable,  and  garden  servants  gath- 
ered in  front  of  the  window  of  my  mother's  room. 


GREAT   PROMOTION.  247 

On  the  steps  before  the  window  stood  Elsa's  slim 
graceful  figure.  The  throng  cheered;  Elsa  bowed, 
waved,  and  kissed  her  hand  to  them.  They  cried  out 
good  wishes  and  called  blessings  on  her.  Again 
she  kissed  her  hand  to  them  with  pretty  dignity.  A 
pace  behind  her  on  either  side  stood  Princess  Hein- 
rich  and  Cousin  Elizabeth.  Elsa  held  the  central 
place,  and  her  little  head  was  erect  and  proud. 

Poor    dear    child!      The    great    promotion    had 
begun. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AN    INTERESTING    PARALLEL. 

I  HAD  a  whimsical  desire  that  somebody,  no  mat- 
ter who,  should  speak  the  truth  about  the  affair. 
That  I  myself  should  was  out  of  the  question,  nor 
would  candour  be  admissible  from  any  of  my  family ; 
even  Victoria  could  do  no  more  than  kiss  me.  Elsa 
did  not  know  the  truth;  her  realization  of  it  lay  in 
the  future — the  future  to  me  ever  so  present.  Var- 
villiers  would  not  tell  it ;  his  sincerity  owned  always 
the  limit  of  politeness.  I  could  not  look  to  have  my 
whim  indulged ;  perhaps  had  there  seemed  a  chance 
of  fulfilment  I  should  have  turned  coward.  Yet  I 
do  not  know;  the  love  of  truth  has  been  a  constant 
and  strong  passion  in  my  mind.  Hence  come  my 
laborious  trackings  of  it  through  mazes  of  moods 
and  feelings ;  painful  trifling,  I  daresay.  But  my 
whim  was  accomplished ;  why  and  under  what  mo- 
tive's spur  it  is  hard  to  guess. 

I  sent  a  message  to  the  Chamber  announcing  my 
betrothal;  a  debate  on  the  answer  to  be  returned 
followed.  Here  was  a  proper  and  solemn  formality, 
rich  in  coloured  phrases  and  -time-honoured  pre- 
tence. No  lie  was  allowed  place  that  could  not  prove 
its  pedigree  for  five  hundred  years.  Then  when 
Bederhof  and  the  rest  had  prated,  there  rose  (0  si 
audisseni)  a  man  with  a  pale-lined  face,  in  which  pas- 
248 


AN    INTERESTING   PARALLEL. 


>49 


sion  had  almost  destroyed  mirth,  or  at  least  com- 
pelled it  to  put  on  the  servile  dress  of  bitterness,  but 
with  eyes  bright  still  and  a  voice  that  rang  through 
the  Chamber.  Wetter  was  back,  back  from  wound- 
ing me,  back  from  his  madness  of  Coralie,  back  from 
his  obscure  wanderings  and  his  reported  bank-break- 
ings. Somewhere  and  somehow  he  had  got  money 
enough  to  keep  him  awhile ;  and  with  money  in  his 
pocket  he  was  again  and  at  once  a  power  in  For- 
stadt.  There  must  have  been  strange  doings  in  that 
man's  soul,  worthy  of  record ;  but  who  would  be  so 
bold  as  to  take  up  the  pen?  His  reappearance  was 
remarkable  enough.  I  asked  whether  he  did  what 
he  did  in  malice,  in  a  rivalry  that  our  quarrel  and  our 
common  defeat  at  the  hands  of  the  paunchy  im- 
presario could  not  wipe  out,  or  whether  he  discerned 
that  I  should  join  in  his  acid  laugh,  and,  as  I  read 
his  speech,  cry  to  myself,  "  Lo,  here  is  truth  and  a 
man  who  tells  it !  " 

For  he  rose,  there  in  the  Chamber,  when  Beder- 
hof's  sticky  syrup  had  ceased  to  flow.  He  spoke  of 
my  betrothal,  sketching  in  a  poet's  mood,  with  the 
art  of  an  orator,  that  perfect  love  whereof  men 
dream ;  painting  with  exquisite  skill  the  man's  hot 
exultation  and  the  girl's  tremulous  triumph,  the  spon- 
taneous leap  of  heart  to  heart,  the  world  without 
eclipsed  and  invisible ;  the  brightness,  the  glory,  and 
the  unquestioning  confidence  in  their  eternity.  His 
voice  rose  victorious  out  of  falterings ;  his  eyes 
gleamed  with  the  vision  that  he  made.  Then,  while 
still  they  wondered  as  men  shown  new  things  in  their 
own  hearts,  his  lips  curved  in  a  smile  and  his  tones 
fell  to  a  moderate  volume.  "  Such,"  said  he,  "  are 
the  joys  which  our  country  shares  with  its  King. 
Because  they  are  his  they  are  ours;  because  they 
17 


250  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

are  his  they  are  hers.  Hers  and  his  are  they  till  their 
lives'  end ;  ours  while  our  hearts  are  worthy  to  con- 
ceive of  them." 

They  were  silent  when  he  sat  down.  He  had  out- 
raged etiquette ;  nobody  had  ever  said  that  sort  of 
thing  before  on  such  an  occasion.  Bederhof  searched 
in  vain  through  an  exhaustive  memorandum  pre- 
pared in  the  Chancellery.  He  consulted  the  clerks. 
Nobody  had  ever  said  anything  in  the  least  like  it. 
They  were  puzzled.  It  was  all  most  excellent,  most 
loyal,  calculated  to  impress  the  people  in  the  most 
favourable  way.  But,  deuce  take  it,  why  did  the 
man  smile  while  he  talked,  and  why  did  his  voice 
change  from  a  ring  of  a  trumpet  to  the  rasp  of  a 
file?  The  Chamber  at  large  was  rather  upset  by 
Wetter's  oration. 

Ah,  Wetter,  but  you  had  an  audience  fit  though 
small !  I  read  it — I  read  it  all.  I,  in  my  study  at 
Artenberg;  I,  alone.  My  mind  leaped  with  yours; 
my  lips  bent  to  the  curve  of  yours.  Surely  you  spoke 
to  please  me,  Wetter  ?  To  show  that  one  man  knew  ? 
To  display  plainest  truth  by  the  medium  of  a  giant's 
lies?  I  could  interpret.  The  language  was  known 
to  me ;  the  irony  was  after  my  own  heart. 

"  It's  dashed  queer  stuff,"  said  William  Adolphus, 
scratching  his  head.  "  All  right  in  a  story  book,  you 
know;  but  in  the  Chamber!  Do  you  think  he's  off 
his  head  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,  William  Adolphus,"  said  I. 

"  Victoria  says  it's  hardly — hardly  decent,  you 
know." 

"  I  shouldn't  call  it  exactly  indecent." 

"  No,  not  exactly  indecent,"  he  admitted.  "  But 
what  the  devil  did  he  want  to  say  it  there  for?  " 

"  Ah,  that  I  can't  answer." 


AN    INTERESTING   PARALLEL.  251 

My  brother-in-law  looked  discontented.  Yet  as  a 
rule  he  resigned  himself  readity  enough  to  not  under- 
standing things. 

"  Victoria  says  that  Princess  Heinrich  requested 
the  Duchess  to  manage  that  Elsa 

"  My  dear  William  Adolphus,  the  transaction 
sounds  complicated." 

"  Complicated  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Princess 
Heinrich  requested  the  Duchess  not  to  let  Elsa 
read  it." 

"  Ah,  my  mother  has  always  good  reasons." 

"  But  Elsa  had  read  it  already." 

"  How  unfortunate  wisdom  always  is !  Did  Elsa 
like  it?" 

"  She  told  Victoria  that  it  seemed  great  non- 
sense." 

"  Yes,  she  would  think  so." 

"  Well,  it  is,  you  know,"  said  William  Adolphus. 

"  Of  course  it  is,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  I. 

Yet  I  wanted  to  know  more  about  it,  and  ob- 
serving that  Varvilliers  was  stated  to  have  been  pres- 
ent in  the  Diplomatic  Gallery,  I  sent  for  him  to  come 
to  Artenberg  and  describe  the  speech  as  it  actually 
passed.  When  I  had  sent  my  message  I  went  forth 
in  search  of  my  fiancee.  She  had  read  the  report 
already;  my  mother's  measures  had  been  taken  too 
late.  What  did  pretty  Elsa  think?  She  thought  it 
was  all  great  nonsense.  Poor  pretty  Elsa ! 

My  heart  was  hungry.  Wetter  had  broken — as 
surely  he  had  meant  to  break — the  sleep  of  memory 
and  the  sense  of  contrast.  I  went  to  her  not  with 
love,  but  with  some  vague  expectation,  a  sort  of  idea 
that,  contrary  to  all  likelihood,  I  might  again  have 
in  some  measure  what  had  come  to  me  before,  spring- 
ing now  indeed  not  whence  I  would,  but  whence  it 


252  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

could,  yet  being  still  itself  though  grown  in  an  alien 
soil.  The  full  richness  of  native  bloom  it  could  not 
win,  yet  it  might  attain  some  pale  grace  and  a  fra- 
grance of  its  own.  For  these  I  would  compound  and 
thank  the  malicious  wit  that  gave  them  me.  But 
she  thought  it  all  great  nonsense ;  nay,  that  was  only 
what  she  had  told  Victoria.  My  mother  was  wise, 
and  my  mother  had  requested  that  she  should  not 
read  it. 

When  I  came  to  her  she  was  uncertain  and  doubt- 
ful in  mood.  She  did  not  refer  to  the  speech,  but 
a  consciousness  of  it  showed  in  her  embarrassment 
and  in  the  distrustful  mirth  of  her  eyes.  She  did  not 
know  how  I  looked  upon  it,  nor  how  I  would  have 
her  take  it ;  was  she  to  laugh  or  to  be  solemn,  to 
ridicule  or  to  pretend  with  handsome  ampleness? 
There  were  duties  attached  to  her  greatness ;  was  it 
among  them  to  swallow  this  ?  But  she  knew  I  liked 
to  joke  at  some  things  which  others  found  serious; 
might  she  laugh  with  me  at  this  extravagance? 

"  Well,  you've  read  the  debate?  "  I  asked.  "  They 
all  said  exactly  the  proper  things." 

"  Did  they  ?  I  didn't  know  what  the  proper  things 
were." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  except  that  mad  fellow  Wetter.  It's 
a  sad  thing,  Elsa;  if  only  he  weren't  a  genius  he'd 
have  a  great  career." 

She  threw  a  timid  questioning  glance  at  me. 

"  Victoria  says  that  he  talked  nonsense,"  she  re- 
marked. 

"  Victoria  declares  that  it  was  you  who  said  it." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  which  of  us  said  it  first," 
she  laughed.  "  Princess  Heinrich  said  so  too;  she 
said  he  must  have  been  reading  romances  and  gone 
mad,  like  Don  Quixote." 


AN   INTERESTING   PARALLEL.  253 

"  You've  read  some  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  some.  Of  course,  it's  different  in  a 
story." 

So  had  observed  William  Adolphus.  I  marked 
Victoria  as  the  common  origin. 

"  You  see,"  said  I  tolerantly,  "  he's  a  man  of  very 
emotional  nature.  He's  carried  away  by  his  feelings, 
and  he  thinks  other  people  are  like  himself."  And 
I  laughed  a  little. 

Elsa  also  laughed,  but  still  doubtfully.  She 
seemed  ill  at  ease.  I  found  her  venturing  a  swift 
stealthy  glance  at  me ;  there  was  something  like  fear 
in  her  eyes.  I  was  curiously  reminded  of  Victoria's 
expression  when  she  came  to  Krak  with  only  a  half 
of  her  exercise  written,  and  mistrusted  the  validity 
of  her  excuse.  (Indeed  it  was  always  a  bad  one.) 
What,  then,  had  Wetter  done  for  her?  Had  he  not 
set  up  a  hopeless  standard  of  grim  duty,  frowning 
and  severe?  My  good  sister  had  meant  to  be  con- 
solatory with  her  "  great  nonsense,"  remembering, 
perhaps,  the  Baron  over  there  at  Waldenweiter.  Elsa 
was  looking  straight  before  her  now,  her  brows  puck- 
ered. I  glanced  down  at  the  hand  in  her  lap  and 
saw  that  it  trembled  a  little.  Suddenly  she  turned 
and  found  me  looking ;  she  blushed  vividly  and  pain- 
fully. 

"  My  dearest  little  cousin,"  said  I,  taking  her 
hand,  "  don't  trouble  your  very  pretty  head  about 
such  matters.  Men  are  not  all  Wetters ;  the  fellow's 
a  poet  if  only  he  knew  it.  Come,  Elsa,  you  and  I  un- 
derstand one  another." 

"  You're  very  kind  to  me,"  she  said.  "  And — 
and  I'm  very  fond  of  you,  Augustin." 

"  It's  very  charming  of  you,  for  there's  little 
enough  reason." 


254 


THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 


"  Victoria  says  several  people  have  been."  She 
hazarded  this  remark  with  an  obvious  effort.  I 
laughed  at  that.  There  was  also  a  covert  hint  of  sur- 
prise in  her  glance.  Either  she  did  not  believe  Vic- 
toria fully,  or  she  was  wondering  how  the  thing  had 
come  about.  Alas,  she  was  so  transparent !  I  found 
myself  caught  by  a  momentary  wish  that  I  had 
chosen  (as  if  I  could  choose,  though !)  a  woman  of 
the  world,  whose  accomplished  skill  should  baffle  all 
my  scrutiny  and  leave  me  still  the  consolations  of 
uncertainty ;  it  is  probable  that  such  a  one  would 
have  extorted  from  me  a  belief  in  her  love  for  five 
minutes  every  day.  Not  for  an  instant  could  that 
delusion  live  with  Elsa's  openness.  Yet  perhaps  she 
would  learn  the  trick,  and  I  watch  her  mastery  of 
it  in  the  growth.  But  at  least  she  should  not  learn 
it  on  my  requisition. 

Elsa  sat  silent,  but  presently  a  slight  meditative 
smile  came  on  her  lips  and  made  a  little  dimple  in  her 
chin.  Her  thoughts  were  pleasant  then ;  no  more  of 
that  grim  impossible  duty.  Had  Wetter's  wand  con- 
jured any  other  idea  into  her  mind?  Had  his  pic- 
ture another  side  for  her  imagination?  It  seemed 
possible  enough ;  it  may  well  have  seemed  possible 
to  Princess  Heinrich  when  she  requested  that  Elsa 
should  not  read  the  speech.  Princess  Heinrich  may 
have  preferred  that  such  notions  should  not  be  sug- 
gested at  all  under  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 
There  was  always  a  meaning  in  what  Princess  Hein- 
rich did. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Elsa?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered  with  a  little  start.  "  Is 
he  a  young  man  ?  " 

"  You  mean  Wetter  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


AN   INTERESTING   PARALLEL.  255 

"  Oh,  a  few  years  over  thirty.  But  he's  made  the 
most  of  his  time  in  the  world.  The  most,  not  the 
best,  I  mean,  you  know." 

Her  thoughts  had  been  on  Wetter  and  Wetter's 
words.  .Since  she  had  smiled  I  concluded  that  my 
guess  was  not  far  off.  Elsa  turned  to  me  with  a  blush 
and  the  coquettish  air  that  now  and  then  sat  so  pret- 
tily on  her  innocence. 

"  I  should  think  he  might  have  made  love  rather 
well,"  she  said. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  in  the  least,"  said  I.  "  But 
he  might  be  a  little  tempestuous." 

"  Yes,"  Elsa  acquiesced.  "  And  that  wouldn't  be 
nice,  would  it?  " 

"  Not  at  all  nice,"  said  I,  and  laughed.  Elsa 
joined  in  my  laugh,  but  doubtfully  and  reluctantly, 
as  though  she  had  but  a  dim  glimmer  of  the  reason 
for  it.  Then  she  turned  to  me  with  a  sudden  radiant 
smile. 

"  Fancy !  "  said  she.  "  Mother  says  I  must  have 
forty  frocks." 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  have  four  hundred." 

"But  isn't  it  a  lot?" 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  I  remarked.  "  But  have  any- 
thing you  ought  to  have.  You  like  the  frocks,  Elsa?  " 

She  gave  that  little  emphatic  double  nod  of  hers. 

We  talked  no  more  of  the  frocks  then,  but  dur- 
ing the  few  days  which  followed  Elsa's  perusal  of 
Wetter's  speech  there  was  infinite  talk  of  frocks  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  furnishings  and  appurtenances  of 
Elsa's  new  rank.  The  impulse  which  moved  women 
so  different  as  my  mother,  the  Duchess,  and  Victoria, 
to  a  common  course  of  conduct  was  doubtless  based 
on  an  universal  woman's  instinct.  All  the  three 
seemed  to  set  themselves  to  dazzle  the  girl  with  the 


256  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

glories  and  pomp  that  awaited  her ;  at  the  same  time 
William  Adolphus  became  pressing  in  his  claims  on 
my  company.  Now  Victoria  never  really  supposed 
that  I  desired  to  spend  my  leisure  with  William  Adol- 
phus ;  she  set  him  in  motion  when  she  had  reason 
to  believe  that  I  had  better  not  spend  it  with  some 
other  person.  So  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  the 
Countess  and  in  Coralie's  epoch  ;  so  it  was  now.  The 
idea  was  obvious ;  just  at  present  it  was  better  for 
Elsa  to  think  of  her  glories  than  to  be  too  much 
with  me ;  she  was  to  be  led  to  the  place  of  sacrifice 
with  a  bandage  over  her  eyes,  a  bandage  that  ob- 
scured the  contrasted  visions  of  Wetter's  imagina- 
tion and  of  my  actual  self.  I  saw  their  plan  and 
appreciated  it,  but  seeing  did  not  forbid  yielding. 
I  was  not  hoodwinked,  but  neither  was  I  stirred  to 
resistance.  It  seemed  to  me  then  that  kindness  lay 
in  not  obtruding  myself  upon  her,  in  being  as  little 
with  her  as  courtesy  and  appearances  allowed,  in  ask- 
ing the  smallest  possible  amount  of  her  thoughts  and 
making  the  least  possible  claim  on  her  life.  They 
asked  me  to  efface  myself,  to  court  oblivion,  to  hide 
behind  the  wardrobe.  It  was  all  done  with  a  sooth- 
ing air,  as  though  it  were  a  temporary  necessity, 
as  though  with  a  little  patience  the  mood  would  pass, 
almost  as  though  Elsa  had  some  little  ailment  which 
would  disappear  in  a  few  days ;  while  it  lasted,  men 
were  best  out  of  the  way,  and  would  show  delicacy 
by  asking  no  questions.  The  way  in  which  women 
act,  look,  and  speak,  when  they  desire  to  create  that 
impression,  is  clear  and  unmistakable ;  a  wise  man 
goes  about  his  business  or  retires  to  his  smoking- 
room,  his  papers,  and  his  books. 

The  treatment  seemed  to  answer  well,  and  its  se- 
verity was  gradually   relaxed.     William   Adolphus, 


AN    INTERESTING   PARALLEL. 


257 


sighing  relief  I  doubt  not  (for  I  was  well-nigh  as 
tedious  to  him  as  he  to  me),  went  off  to  his  horses. 
I  was  again  encouraged  to  be  more  with  Elsa,  under 
a  caution  to  say  nothing  that  could  excite  her.  She 
met  me  with  a  quiet  gay  contentment,  seemed  pleased 
to  be  with  me,  and  was  profuse  and  sincere  in  thanks 
for  my  kindness.  Sometimes  now  she  talked  of  our 
life  after  we  were  married,  when  Princess  Heinrich 
would  be  gone  and  we  alone  together.  She  was  oc- 
cupied with  innocent  wonderings  how  we  should  get 
on,  and  professed  an  anxiety  lest  she  should  fail 
in  keeping  me  amused.  Then  she  would  take  refuge 
in  reminding  herself  of  her  many  and  responsible 
duties.  She  would  have  nearly  as  much  to  do  as 
I  had,  she  said,  and  was  not  her  work  really  almost 
as  important  as  mine? 

"  Princess  Heinrich  says  that  the  social  influence 
I  shall  wield  is  just  as  important  to  the  welfare  of 
the  country,"  she  would  say,  with  that  grave  inquir- 
ing look  in  her  pretty  blue  eyes. 

"  All  the  fashionable  folk  in  Forstadt  will  think 
it  much  more  important/-'  said  I,  laughing.  "  Espe- 
cially the  young  men,  Elsa." 

"  As  if  I  should  care  about  that !  "  she  cried  scorn- 
fully. 

Now  and  then,  at  intervals,  while  I  talked  to  her, 
the  idea  of  doing  what  my  mother  had  meant  by 
exciting  her  came  into  my  head,  the  idea  of  satisfy- 
ing her  unconscious  longings  and  of  fulfilling  for  her 
the  dream  which  had  taken  shape  under  the  wand 
of  that  magician  Wetter.  I  believed  then  that  I 
could  have  succeeded  in  the  task ;  there  may  be  van- 
ity in  that  opinion,  but  neither  lapse  of  time  nor  later 
experience  has  brought  me  to  renounce  it.  Why, 
then,  did  I  yield  to  the  women's  prescription,  and 


258 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


renounce  the  idea  of  gaining  and  chaining  her  love 
and  her  fancy  for  myself?  Nothing  in  her  gives  the 
answer  to  that  question ;  it  must  be  sought  in  my 
mind  and  my  temper.  I  believed  and  I  believe  that 
if  I  could  have  stirred  myself  I  could  have  stirred  her. 
The  claim  is  not  great;  Wetter  had  done  half  the 
work  for  me,  and  nature  was  doing  the  better  part  of 
the  rest.  I  should  have  started  with  such  an  advan- 
tage that  the  battle  must  have  been  mine.  This  is 
not  merely  perceived  in  retrospect;  it  was  tolerably 
clear  to  me  even  at  the  time.  But  the  impulse  in  me 
was  wanting.  I  could  have  won,  but  I  did  not  truly 
desire  to  win.  I  could  have  given  what  she  asked, 
but  my  own  heart  was  a  niggard.  It  was  from  me 
more  than  from  her  that  the  restraint  came ;  it  was 
with  me  to  move,  and  I  could  not  stir.  She  was 
lovable,  but  I  did  not  love  her ;  she  had  love  to  give, 
but  I  could  not  ask  for  it.  To  marry  her  was  my 
duty,  to  seem  to  desire  the  marriage  my  role.  There 
obligation  stopped ;  inclination  refused  to  carry  on 
the  work.  I  had  driven  a  bargain  with  fate ;  I  would 
pay  the  debt  to  the  last  farthing,  but  I  could  not 
open  my  purse  again  for  a  gratuity  or  a  bounty.  I 
acquiesced  with  fair  contentment  in  it,  and  in  the 
relations  which  it  produced  between  Elsa  and  my- 
self. There  was  a  tacit  agreement  among  all  of  us 
that  a  calm  and  cousinly  affection  was  the  best  thing, 
and  fully  adequate  to  the  needs  of  the  situation.  The 
advice  of  the  women  chimed  in  with  my  own  mood. 
Making  love  to  her  would  have  seemed  to  them  a 
dangerous  indiscretion,  to  me  a  rather  odious  tak- 
ing advantage  of  one  who  was  not  a  free  agent,  and 
a  rather  humiliating  bit  of  pretence  besides.  We 
had  all  made  up  our  minds  that  matters  had  better 
be  left  considerably  below  boiling-point. 


AN    INTERESTING   PARALLEL.  259 

While  things  stood  thus  I  received  a  letter  from 
Varvilliers  (who  was  at  Forstadt)  accepting  my  in- 
vitation to  Artenberg.  His  acceptance  signified,  he 
went  on : 

"  Of  course  all  the  town  is  full  of  you  and  your 
Hancee — her  portrait  is  everywhere,  your  name  and 
hers  in  every  mouth.  There  is  another  coupled  with 
them,  surely  in  a  strange  conjunction !  When  they 
speak  of  you  and  the  Princess  they  speak  of  Wetter 
also.  It  is  recalled  that  you  and  he  were  friends  and 
associates,  companions  in  amusement  and  sport 
(especially,  of  course,  in  pistol  practice!).  Hence 
springs  a  theory  that  the  fellow's  odd  rhapsody  (mad 
and  splendid !)  was  directly  inspired  by  yourself,  that 
you  chose  him  as  your  medium,  desiring  to  add  to 
the  formal  expressions  usual  on  such  occasions  an 
unofficial  declaration  of  your  private  feelings.  So 
you  are  hailed  as  a  model  and  most  romantic  lover, 
and  every  tea-table  resounds  with  your  praises.  Early 
indiscretions  (forgive  a  pen  itself  indiscreet)  are  for- 
gotten, and  you  are  booked  for  the  part  of  the  model 
husband,  an  example  of  the  beauty  (and  the  duty)  of 
marriages  of  inclination  in  high  places.  Believe  me, 
your  popularity  is  doubled.  And  the  strange  fellow 
himself,  having  money  in  his  pocket  and  that  voice 
of  his  in  magnificent  order,  is  to  be  seen  everywhere, 
smiling  mysteriously  and  observing  a  most  signifi- 
cant reticence  when  he  is  pressed  to  say  that  he  spoke 
at  your  request  and  to  your  pattern.  But  for  your 
Majesty's  own  letters  I  should  not  have  ventured  to 
be  a  dissenter  from  the  received  opinion ;  if  you  bid 
me,  at  any  moment  I  will  gladly  renounce  my  heresy 
and  embrace  the  orthodox  faith.  Meanwhile  I  am 
wondering  what  imp  holds  sway  in  Wetter's  brain ; 


260  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

and  I  am  laughing  a  little  at  this  new  example  of  th« 
eternal  antagonism  between  what  is  the  truth  and 
what  is  thought  to  be  the  truth.  If  mankind  ever 
stumbled  on  absolute  naked  verity,  what  the  devil 
would  they  make  of  it?  By  the  way,  I  hear  that 
Coralie  is  to  make  her  debut  in  Paris  in  a  week  or 
two.  She  being  now  reputably  impresarioed,  the 
Sempachs  have  shown  her  some  civility.  I  told 
Wetter  this  when  I  last  ran  against  him  at  the  club. 
He  raised  his  brows,  twisted  his  lips,  scratched  his 
chin,  looked  full  in  my  face  and  said  with  a  smile, 
'  My  dear  Vicomte,  Madame  Mansoni  is  passionately 
attached  to  her  husband.  They  are  ideal  lovers/ 
Your  Majesty  shall  interpret,  if  it  be  your  pleasure. 
I  leave  the  matter  alone." 

This  fellow  Wetter  was  very  impertinent  with  his 
speeches  and  his  parallels.  But,  good  heavens,  he 
had  eyes  to  see!  Madame  Mansoni  and  her  impre- 
sario were  ideal  lovers !  Surely  the  world  was  grown 
young  again !  Elsa  also  made  her  debut  in  a  few 
weeks ;  I  was  her  impresario.  And  she  was  passion- 
ately attached  to  her  impresario !  I  lay  back  in  my 
chair,  laughing  and  wishing  with  all  my  heart  that  I 
could  have  a  talk  with  Wetter. 


CHAPTER   XXL 

ON    THE    ART    OF    FALLING    SOFT. 

THE  economy  of  belief  which  wisdom  practices 
forbids  us  to  embrace  fanciful  theories  where  com- 
monly observed  facts  will  serve  our  turn.  They  talk 
now  about  strange  communications  of  mind  to  mind, 
my  thought  speaking  to  yours  a  thousand  miles  away. 
Perhaps ;  or  perhaps  there  is  a  new  fashion  in  ghost 
stories.  In  any  case  there  was  no  need  of  these 
speculations  to  account  for  Wetter  being  near  me 
at  the  very  time  when  I  was  longing  for  his  pres- 
ence. From  the  moment  I  read  his  speech  I  knew 
that  he  was  thinking  of  me;  that  my  doings  were 
stuff  for  his  meditations ;  that  his  mind  entered  into 
mine,  read  its  secrets,  and  was  audience  to  all  its 
scenes.  Is  not  the  desire  to  meet,  at  least  to  see,  the 
natural  sequence  of  such  an  interest  and  such  a  pre- 
occupation ?  Given  the  wish,  what  was  simpler  than 
its  gratification?  He  need  ask  no  leave  from  me, 
and  need  run  no  risk  of  my  rebuff  or  of  Princess 
Heinrich's  stiffness.  He  knew  all  the  world  of  For- 
stadt.  From  favour  or  fear  every  door  opened  when 
he  knocked  at  it.  He  knew,  among  the  rest,  Vic- 
toria's Baron  over  at  Waldenweiter.  From  no  place 
could  he  better  observe  the  King.  Nowhere  else 
was  it  so  easy  for  a  man  to  meet  the  King.  He  came 
to  Waldenweiter;  I  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 

261 


262  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

to  be  near  me  was  his  only  object.  By  a  stableman's 
chance  remark,  overheard  as  I  was  looking  at  my 
horses,  I  learned  of  his  presence  on  the  morning  of 
the  day  when  Varvilliers  was  to  arrive  at  Artenberg. 
We  were  coming  together  again,  we  three  who  had 
met  last  for  pistol  practice  in  the  Garden  Pavilion. 

About  two  o'clock  I  went  out  alone  and  got  into 
my  canoe.  It  was  a  beautiful  day ;  no  excuse  was 
needed  for  a  lounge  on  the  water.  I  paddled  up  and 
down  leisurely,  wondering  how  soon  the  decoy  would 
bring  my  bird.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  proved  enough. 
I  saw  him  saunter  down  to  the  water's  edge.  He  per- 
ceived me,  lifted  his  soft  hat,  and  bowed.  I  shot 
across  the  space  between,  and  brought  the  canoe 
up  to  the  edge  of  the  level  lawn  that  bordered  on 
the  river. 

"  Why,  what  brings  you  here  ?  "  I  cried. 

His  lips  curved  in  a  smile,  as  he  replaced  his  hat 
in  obedience  to  a  sign  from  me. 

"  A  passion  for  the  Baroness,  sire,"  said  he. 

"  Ah,  that's  only  a  virtuous  pretence,"  I  laughed. 
"You've  a  less  creditable  motive?" 

"  Why,  possibly ;  but  who  tells  his  less  creditable 
motives  ?  " 

I  looked  at  him  curiously  and  attentively.  He 
had  grown  older,  the  hair  by  his  ears  was  gray,  and 
life  had  ploughed  furrows  on  his  face. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  a  man  might  do  even  that  who 
talks  romance  to  the  Chamber." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh  as  he  lit  his  cigarette. 

"  Your  Majesty  has  done  me  the  honour  of  read- 
ing what  I  said  ?  " 

"  I  am  told  that  I  suggested  it.  So  runs  the  gos- 
sip in  town,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  And  your  opinion  on  it  ?  " 


Why,  what  brings  you  here?"  I  cried. 


ON    THE   ART   OF   FALLING   SOFT.  263 

"  I  think  I  won't  expose  myself  to  your  fire 
again/'  said  I.  "  It  was  careless  last  time ;  it  would 
be  downright  folly  now." 

"  Then  we  are  to  say  no  more  about  it  ?  "  he  asked 
gravely. 

"  Not  a  word.  Tell  me,  how  came  you  to  know 
that  Coralie  loves  her  impresario?  You  told  Var- 
villiers  so." 

His  lips  twitched  for  a  moment,  but  he  answered, 
smiling: 

"  Because  she  has  married  him." 

"  I  heard  something  of  ambition  in  the  case,  of 
her  career  demanding  the  sacrifice." 

"  A  slander,  sire,  depend  on  it.  It  is  said  in  envy 
of  her  good  fortune." 

"Come,  come,  you  love  the  Baroness  so  much, 
that  you  must  have  all  the  world  in  love." 

"  Indeed  I  can  think  of  nobody  more  in  love  than 
I  am." 

"  Think  of  me,  Wetter." 

"  As  though  your  Majesty  could  ever  be  absent 
from  my  thoughts,"  said  he  with  a  bow,  a  wave  of 
his  cigarette,  and  a  smile. 

I  laughed  outright  in  sheer  enjoyment  of  his 
sword-play. 

"  And  since  we  parted  where  have  you  been  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  I  have  walked  through  hell,  in  such  company 
as  the  place  afforded,"  he  answered,  with  a  shrug 
that  spoke  ill  for  hell's  resources. 

"  And  you've  come  out  the  other  side  ?  " 

"Is  there  another  side?" 

"Then  you're  still  there?" 

"  Upon  my  word  I  don't  know.  It's  so  like  other 
places — except  that  I  picked  up  money  there." 


264  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  I  heard  that." 

"  My  resurrection  made  it  obvious." 

A  silence  fell  on  both  of  us ;  then  our  eyes  met, 
and  he  smiled  kindly. 

"  I  knew  you  meant  the  speech  for  me,"  I  said. 

"  I  was  not  entitled  to  congratulate  you  officially." 

"  You  have  raised  a  mountain  of  misconception 
about  me  in  Forstadt,"  I  complained. 

"  A  mountain-top  is  a  suitable  regal  seat,  and  per- 
haps the  only  safe  one." 

"  Won't  you  speak  plainly  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it's  your  pleasure." 

"  I  have  least  of  it  of  any  pleasure  in  the 
world." 

"  Well,  then,  the  Countess  von  Sempach  grows 
no  younger." 

"No?" 

"  And  Coralie  Mansoni  has  married  her  impre- 
sario." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  And  my  hair  is  gray,  and  your  eyes  are  open." 
.  We  both  laughed  and  fell  again  to  smoking  in 
silence.  At  last  I  spoke. 

"  Her  hair  is  golden  and  her  eyes  are  shut," 
said  I.  "  Why  did  you  try  to  open  them  ?  " 

"  Wasn't  it  to  look  on  a  fine  sight?  " 

"  But  you  knew  that  the  sight  wasn't  there." 

"She  looked?" 

"  For  an  instant.  Then  they  turned  her  head  the 
other  way." 

"  It  was  pure  devilry  in  me.  You  should  have 
seen  the  Chamber!  Good  God!  Bederhof,  now!" 

His  eyes  twinkled  merrily,  and  my  laugh  an- 
swered their  mirth. 

"  One  can  always  laugh,"  said  I  with  a  shrug. 


ON   THE   ART   OF   FALLING   SOFT.  265 

"  It  was  invented  for  the  world  before  the  Fall, 
and  they  forgot  to  take  it  away  afterward,"  he  said. 
"  But  you  ?  You  take  things  seriously  ?  " 

"  What  I  have  to  do,  yes." 

"  But  what  you  have  to  feel  ?  " 

"  In  truth  I  am  not  even  there  a  consistent 
laugher." 

"  Nor  I,  or  we  shouldn't  talk  so  much  about  it. 
Look  at  Varvilliers.  Does  he  laugh  on  a  theory  ?  " 

"  He's  coming  to  Artenberg  to-day.  There  at 
least  he'll  laugh  without  any  effort.  Are  you  stay- 
ing here  long?  " 

"  No,  sire.    One  scene  of  despair,  and  I  depart." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  oftener." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  are  finally,  and  I  for  the  time, 
respectable.  Why  not,  while  my  money  lasts  ?  " 

"  I  have  money  of  yours." 

"  You  have  more  than  money  of  mine." 

He  looked  me  in  the  face  and  held  out  his  hand. 
I  grasped  it  firmly. 

"  Are  you  making  a  fool  of  this  Baroness  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  She's  making  one  of  me.  She 
is  very  happy  and  content.  I  am  born  to  make 
women  happy." 

I  laughed  again.  He  was  whimsically  resigned 
to  his  temperament,  but  the  mischief  had  not  touched 
his  brain.  Then  the  Baroness'  hold  on  him  was  not 
like  Coralie  Mansoni's ;  he  would  fight  no  duel  for 
her.  He  would  only  make  a  fool  of  the  greatest 
man  in  Forstadt.  That  feat  was  always  so  easy 
to  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  must  return  to  my  misery." 

"  And  I  to  my  happiness,"  said  I.  "  But  you'll 
come  to  Artenberg?  " 

18 


266  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  It's  Princess  Heinrich's  house,"  he  objected 
with  a  smile. 

"  For  the  time,  yes.  Then  come  to  me  at  For- 
stadt" 

"  Yes  ;  unless  I  have  disappeared  again." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  bows  of  my  canoe  and 
thrust  me  out  into  the  stream.  Then  he  stood  bar- 
ing his  head  and  crumpling  up  the  soft  hat  in  his 
fist.  I  noticed  now  that  his  hair  was  gray  all  over  his 
head.  He  resumed  his  hat,  put  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  waited  without  moving,  till  I  turned 
my  back  to  him.  Having  reached  the  opposite  bank, 
I  looked  round.  He  was  there  still.  I  waved  my 
hand  to  him ;  he  returned  the  signal.  Then  we  both 
began  to  climb  the  hill,  I  to  Artenberg,  he  to  Walden- 
weiter ;  he  to  his  misery,  I  to  my  happiness.  And — 
which  is  better,  who  knows  ?  At  any  rate  the  Baron- 
ess was  pleased. 

I  mounted  through  the  woods  slowly,  although 
I  had  been  detained  longer  than  I  expected,  and  was 
already  too  late  to  greet  Varvilliers  on  his  arrival. 
As  I  came  near  the  terrace  I  heard  the  ring  of  merry 
voices.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  household 
were  all  there,  making  a  brave  and  gay  group.  In 
the  centre  I  saw  my  family  and  Elsa.  Varvilliers 
himself  was  standing  by  Princess  Heinrich's  side, 
talking  fast  and  with  great  animation.  Bursts  of 
glad  laughter  marked  his  points.  There  was  not  a 
hint  of  care  nor  a  touch  of  bitterness.  Here  was  no 
laughing  on  a  theory,  as  Wetter  called  it,  but  a  sim- 
ple enjoyment,  a  whole-hearted  acceptance  of  the 
world's  good  hours.  Were  they  not  nearer  truth? 
Were  they  not,  at  least,  nearer  wisdom  ?  A  reaction 
came  on  me.  In  a  sudden  moment  a  new  resolve 
entered  my  head ;  again  Varvilliers  roused  the  im- 


ON   THE   ART   OF   FALLING   SOFT.  267 

pulse  that  he  had  power  to  rouse  in  me.  I  would 
make  trial  of  this  mode  of  living  and  test  this  colour 
of  mind.  I  had  been  thinking  about  life  when  I 
might  have  been  exulting  in  it.  I  ran  forward  to  the 
group,  and,  as  they  parted  to  let  me  through,  I  came 
quickly  to  Varvilliers  with  outstretched  hands.  He 
seemed  to  me  a  good  genius.  Even  my  mother  looked 
smiling  and  happy.  The  faces  of  the  rest  were  alight 
with  gaiety.  Victoria  was  in  the  full  tide  of  a  happy 
laugh,  and  did  not  interrupt  it  on  account  of  my  ar- 
rival. Elsa's  lips  were  parted  in  a  smile  that  was 
eager  and  wondering.  Her  eyes  sparkled ;  she 
clasped  her  hands  and  nodded  to  me  in  a  delicious 
surprised  merriment.  I  caught  Varvilliers  by  the 
arm  and  made  him  sit  by  me.  A  cry  arose  that  he 
should  repeat  the  last  story  for  the  King's  benefit. 
He  complied  at  once,  and  launched  on  some  charm- 
ing absurdity.  Renewed  applause  greeted  the  story's 
point.  A  rivalry  arose  who  should  cap  it  with  a 
better.  The  contact  of  brains  struck  sparks.  Every 
man  was  wittier  than  his  wont ;  every  woman  more 
radiant.  What  the  plague  had  I  and  Wetter  been 
grumbling  and  snarling  at  down  there  on  the  river? 
The  impulse  lasted  the  evening  out.  After  din- 
ner we  fell  to  dancing  in  the  long  room  that  faced 
the  gardens.  My  mother  and  the  Duchess  retired 
early,  but  the  rest  of  us  set  the  hours  at  defiance  and 
revelled  far  on  into  the  night.  It  was  as  though  a 
new  spirit  had  come  to  Artenberg ;  the  very  servants 
wore  broad  grins  as  they  bustled  about,  seeming  to 
declare  that  here  at  last  was  something  like  what  a 
youthfuf  king's  court  should  be.  William  Adolphus 
was  boisterous,  Victoria  forgot  that  she  was  learned 
and  a  patroness  of  the  arts,  Elsa  threw  herself  into 
the  fun  with  the  zest  and  abandonment  of  a  child. 


268  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

I  vied  with  Varvilliers  himself,  seeking  to  wrest  from 
him  the  title  of  master  of  the  revels.  He  could  not 
stand  against  me.  A  madman  may  be  stronger  than 
the  finest  athlete.  No  native  temper  could  vie  with 
my  foreign  mood. 

Suddenly  I  knew  that  I  could  do  to-night  what 
I  had  vainly  tried  to  do ;  that  to-night,  for  to-night 
at  least>  I  felt  something  of  what  I  desired  to  feel. 
The  blood  ran  free  in  my  veins ;  if  I  did  not  love 
her,  yet  I  loved  love,  and  for  love's  sake  would  love 
Elsa.  If  to-night  the  barrier  between  us  could  be 
broken  down,  it  need  never  rise  again ;  the  vision,  so 
impossible  a  few  hours  before,  seemed  now  a  faint 
reflection  of  what  must  soon  be  reality.  I  looked 
round  for  her,  but  I  could  not  see  her.  I  started  to 
walk  across  the  room,  threading  my  way  through  the 
merry  company,  who  danced  no  longer,  but  stood 
about  in  groups,  bandying  chaff  and  compliments. 
Engrossed  with  one  another,  they  hardly  remem- 
bered to  give  me  passage.  Presently  I  came  on  Wil- 
liam Adolphus,  making  himself  very  agreeable  to 
one  of  his  wife's  ladies. 

"Have  you  seen  Elsa?"  I  asked  him. 

"  What,  you've  remembered  your  duty  at  last, 
have  you  ?  "  he  cried,  with  a  burst  of  laughter. 

"  No ;  I  believe  I've  forgotten  it  at  last,"  I  an- 
swered. "  Where  is  she?  " 

"  I  saw  her  with  Varvilliers  on  the  steps  outside 
the  window." 

I  turned  in  the  direction  which  he  indicated,  and 
stepped  out  through  the  open  window.  Day  was 
dawning;  I  could  make  out  the  gray  shape  of  Wal- 
denweiter.  Was  the  scene  of  despair  played  there 
yet?  I  gave  but  a  passing  thought  to  old  Wetter, 
his  mad  doings  and  wry  reflections.  I  was  hot  on 


ON    THE   ART   OF   FALLING   SOFT.  269 

another  matter,  and,  raising  my  voice,  I  called,  "  Var- 
villiers !  Where  are  you,  Varvilliers  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  Varvilliers,  but  here  I  am,"  came  in 
answer  from  across  the  terrace. 

"  Wetter!  "  I  whispered,  running  down  the  steps 
and  over  to  where  he  stood.  "  What  brings  you 
here?" 

"  I  couldn't  sleep.  I  saw  your  lights  and  I  rowed 
across.  I've  been  here  for  an  hour." 

"  You  should  have  come  in." 

"  No.  I  have  been  very  well  here,  in  the  fringe 
of  the  trees." 

"  You  have  had  your  scene?  " 

"  No ;  he  would  not  sleep  after  dinner.  Early  to- 
morrow! And  then  I  go.  Enough  of  that.  I  have 
seen  your  Princess." 

"  You  have  ?  Wetter,  I  am  in  love  with  her.  Tell 
me  where  she  went.  She  has  suddenly  become  all 
that  I  want.  I  have  suddenly  become  all  that  I  ought 
to  be.  Tell  me  where  she  is,  Wetter !  " 

"  It  is  not  your  Princess  ;  it  is  the  dance,  the  wine, 
the  night." 

"  By  God,  I  don't  care  what  it  is." 

"  Well,  then,  she's  with  Varvilliers,  at  the  end  of 
the  terrace,  I  imagine ;  for  they  passed  by  here  as 
I  lay  in  my  hole  watching." 

"  But  he  would  have  heard  my  cry." 

"  It  depends  upon  what  other  sounds  were  in  his 
ears.  They  seemed  very  happy  together." 

I  saw  that  he  rallied  me.    I  smiled,  answering : 

"  I'm  not  in  the  mood  for  another  duel." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  then  caught  me 
by  the  hand. 

"  Come,  let's  slink  along,"  he  said.  "  We  may  get 
a  sight  of  them." 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  I  can't  do  that." 

"  No  ?  Perhaps  you  can't.  Walk  up  to  them, 
send  him  away,  and  make  your  love  to  her.  I'll  wait 
for  you  here.  You'll  like  to  see  me  before  the  night's 
out." 

I  looked  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"Shall  I  like  to  see  you?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  The  olive  after  the 
sweets."  He  laughed,  not  bitterly,  I  thought,  but 
ruefully. 

"  So  be  it,"  I  said.    "  Stay  here." 

I  started  off,  but  he  had  laid  a  cold  hand  on  my 
heart.  I  was  to  want  him  ;  then  I  should  be  no  lover, 
for  a  lover  wants  but  one.  Yet  I  nerved  myself  and 
cried  again  loudly,  "  Varvilliers !  "  This  time  I  was 
answered.  I  saw  him  and  Elsa  coming  toward  me ; 
his  voice  sounded  merry  and  careless  as  he  shouted, 
"  Here  I  am,  sire  " ;  a  moment  later  they  stood  be- 
fore me.  No,  there  was  no  ground  for  Wetter's  hint, 
and  could  be  none.  Both  were  merely  happy  and 
gay,  both  utterly  unembarrassed. 

"  Somebody  wants  you  inside,  Varvilliers,"  said  I, 
with  a  nod. 

He  laughed,  bowed  gracefully  to  Elsa,  and  ran 
off.  He  took  his  dismissal  without  a  sign  of  grudge. 
I  turned  to  her. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  said  with  a  little  yawn,  "  I'm 
tired.  It  must  be  very  late." 

I  caught  her  by  both  hands. 

"  Late !  "  I  cried.  "  Not  too  late,  Elsa !  "  I  bent 
down  and  kissed  both  her  hands.  "  Why  did  you 
run  away?"  I  asked. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  wanted  me,"  she  said  in  a 
sort  of  wonder. 

I  looked  full  in  her  eyes,  and  I  knew  that  there 


ON   THE   ART   OF   FALLING   SOFT. 


271 


was  in  mine  the  look  that  declares  love  and  asks  for 
it.  If  her  eyes  answered,  the  vision  might  be  reality. 
I  pressed  her  hands  hard.  She  gave  a  little  cry, 
the  sparkle  vanished  from  her  eyes,  and  their  lids 
drooped.  Yet  a  little  colour  came  in  her  cheeks  and 
the  gray  dawn  showed  it  me.  I  hailed  it  with  eager- 
ness and  with  misgiving.  I  thought  of  Wetter  wait- 
ing there  among  the  trees,  waiting  till  the  moment 
when  I  wanted  him. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Elsa?"  I  asked. 

The  colour  deepened  on  her  cheeks.  I  waited 
to  see  whether  her  eyes  would  rise  again  to  mine ; 
they  remained  immovable. 

"  You  know  I'm  very  fond  of  you,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  But  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  love  you.  Please  let  my  hands 
go,  Augustin." 

If  Wetter  were  listening,  he  must  have  smiled  at 
the  peal  of  laughter  that  rang  out  from  me  over  the 
terrace.  I  could  not  help  it.  Elsa  started  violently 
as  I  loosed  her  hands ;  now  she  looked  up  at  me 
with  frightened  eyes  that  swam  in  tears.  Her  lips 
moved ;  she  tried  to  speak  to  me.  I  was  full  of  brutal 
things  and  had  a  horrible  longing  to  say  them  to 
her.  There  was  a  specious  justice  in  them  veneering 
their  cruelty;  I  am  glad  to  say  that  I  gave  utter- 
ance to  none  of  them.  We  were  both  in  the  affair, 
and  he  is  a  poor  sort  of  villain  who  comforts  himself 
by  abusing  his  accomplice. 

"  You're  tired  ?  "  I  asked  gently. 

"  Very.  But  it  has  been  delightful.  M.  de  Var- 
villiers  has  been  so  kind." 

"  He's  a  delightful  fellow,  Varvilliers.  Come,  let 
me  take  you  in,  and  we'll  send  these  madcaps  to  bed." 


2/2 


THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 


She  put  her  hand  on  my  arm  in  a  friendly  trust- 
ful fashion,  and  I  found  her  eyes  fixed  on  mine  with 
a  puzzled  regretful  look.  We  walked  most  of  the 
way  along  the  terrace  before  she  spoke. 

"  You're*  not  angry  with  me,  Augustin  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens,  no,  my  dear,"  said  I. 

"  I'm  very  fond  of  you,"  she  said  again  as  we 
reached  the  window. 

At  last  they  were  ready  for  bed — all  save  myself. 
I  watched  them  as  they  trooped  away,  Elsa  on  Vic- 
toria's arm.  Varvilliers  came  up  to  me,  smiling  in 
the  intervals  that  he  snatched  from  a  series  of 
yawns. 

"  A  splendid  evening !  "  he  said.  "  You  surpassed 
yourself,  sire." 

"  I  believe  I  did,"  said  I.    "  Go  to  bed,  my  friend." 

"And  you?" 

"  Presently.    I'm  not  sleepy  yet." 

"  Marvellous !  "  said  he,  with  a  last  laugh  and  a 
last  yawn. 

For  a  few  moments  I  stood  alone  in  the  room. 
There  were  no  servants  about;  they  had  given  up 
waiting  for  us,  and  the  lights  were  to  burn  at  Arten- 
berg  till  the  hour  of  rising.  I  lit  a  cigarette  and 
went  out  on  the  terrace  again.  I  had  no  doubt  that 
Wetter  would  keep  his  tryst.  I  was  right;  he  was 
there. 

"Well,  how  did  you  speed?"  he  asked  with  a 
smile. 

"  Marvellously  well,"  said  I. 

He  took  hold  of  the  lapels  of  my  coat  and  looked 
at  me  curiously. 

"  Your  love  scene  was  short,"  he  said. 

"  Perhaps.    It  was  long  enough." 

"To  do  what?" 


ON   THE   ART   OF   FALLING   SOFT. 


273 


"  To  define  the  situation." 

"  Did  it  need  definition  ?  " 

"  I  thought  so  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Ah,  well,  the  evening  has  been  a  strange  one, 
hasn't  it?" 

"  Let's  walk  down  to  the  river  through  the 
woods,"  said  I.  "  I'll  put  you  across  to  Walden- 
weiter." 

He  acquiesced,  and  I  put  my  arm  through  his. 
Presently  he  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"  The  dance,  the  wine,  the  night." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  I  cried.  "  My  God,  I  knew 
even  when  I  spoke  to  her.  She  saw  that  a  brute 
asked  her,  not  a  man." 

"  Perhaps,  perhaps  not ;  they  don't  see  everything. 
She  shrank  from  you  ?  " 

"  The  tears  were  very  ready." 

"  Ah,  those  tears !  Heavens,  why  have  we  no 
such  appeals?  What  matter,  though?  You  don't 
love  her." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  call  myself  a  brute  again  ? 
Wetter,  any  other  girl  would  have  been  free  to  tell 
me  that  I  was  a  brute." 

"  Why,  no.  No  man  is  free  even  to  tell  you  that 
you're  a  fool,  sire.  The  divinity  hedges  you." 

I  laughed  shortly  and  bitterly.  What  he  said  was 
true  enough. 

"  There  is,  however,  nothing  to  prevent  you  from 
seeing  these  things  for  yourself,  just  as  though  you 
were  one  of  the  rest  of  us,"  he  pursued.  "  Ah,  here's 
the  river.  You'll  row  me  across  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Get  into  the  boat  there." 

We  got  in,  and  I  pulled  out  into  mid-stream.  It 
was  almost  daylight  now,  but  there  was  still  a  gray- 
ness  in  the  atmosphere  that  exactly  matched  the  tint 


274 


THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 


of  Welter's  face.  Noticing  this  suddenly  I  pointed  it 
out  to  him,  laughing  violently. 

"  You  are  Lucifer,  Son  of  the  Morning,"  I  cried. 
"  How  art  thou  fallen  from  heaven,  O  Lucifer,  Son 
of  Morning!  " 

"  I  wouldn't  care  for  that  if  I  had  the  trick  of 
falling  soft,"  said  he.  "  Learn  it,  O  King,  learn  it ! 
On  what  padded  bed  falls  William  Adolphus !  " 

My  laugh  broke  again  through  the  morning  loud 
and  harsh.  Then  I  laid  myself  to  the  oars,  and  we 
shot  across  to  the  bank  of  Waldenweiter.  He  shook 
my  hand  and  sprang  out  lightly. 

"  I  must  change  my  clothes  and  have  my  scene, 
and  then  to  Forstadt,"  said  he.  "  Good-day  to  you, 
sire.  Yet  remember  the  lesson  of  the  moralist.  Learn 
to  fall  soft,  learn  to  fall  soft."  With  a  smile  he  turned 
away,  and  again  I  watched  him  mount  the  slope  of 
Waldenweiter. 

In  such  manner,  on  that  night  at  Artenberg,  did 
I,  having  no  wings  to  soar  to  heaven  and  no  key 
wherewith  to  open  the  door  of  it,  make  to  myself, 
out  of  dance,  wine,  night,  and  what  not,  a  ladder, 
mount  thereby,  and  twist  the  door-handle.  But  the 
door  was  locked,  the  ladder  broke,  and  I  fell  head- 
long. Nor  do  I  doubt  that  many  men  are  my  mas- 
ters in  that  art  of  falling  soft. 


CHAPTER  XXTI, 

UT   PUTO,   VESTIS   FIO. 

THE  next  morning  all  Artenberg  had  the  air  of 
being  rather  ashamed  of  itself.  Styrian  traditions 
had  been  set  at  naught.  Princess  Heinrich  consid- 
ered that  the  limits  of  becoming  mirth  had  been  over- 
stepped ;  the  lines  of  her  mouth  had  their  most  down- 
ward set.  Nothing  was  said  because  the  King  had 
led  the  dance,  but  disgrace  was  in  the  atmosphere. 
We  had  all  fallen  from  heaven — one  may  mean  many 
things  by  heaven — and  landed  with  more  or  less  se- 
verity, according  to  the  resources  of  padding  with 
which  Nature  furnished  us.  To  Varvilliers'  case, 
indeed,  the  metaphor  is  inadequate ;  he  had  a  para- 
chute, sailed  to  earth  gaily  with  never  a  bruise,  and 
was  ready  to  mount  again  had  any  of  us  offered  to 
bear  him  company.  His  invitation,  given  with  a 
heartiness  that  mocked  his  bidden  companions,  found 
no  acceptance.  We  were  all  for  our  own  planet  in 
the  morning.  It  was  abundantly  clear  that  revels 
must  be  the  exception  at  Artenberg.  Victoria  was 
earnestly  of  this  opinion.  In  the  first  place,  the  phys- 
ical condition  of  William  Adolphus  was  deplorable ; 
he  leered  rueful  roguishness  out  of  bilious  eyes,  and 
Victoria  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  him ;  second- 
ly, she  was  sure  that  I  had  said  something — what  she 
did  not  know,  but  something — to  Elsa ;  for  Elsa  had 

275 


276  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

been  found  crying  over  her  coffee  in  bed  in  the 
morning. 

"  And  every  word  you  say  to  her  now  is  of  such 
supreme  importance,"  Victoria  observed,  standing 
over  my  writing-table. 

I  took  my  cigarette  out  of  my  mouth  and  an- 
swered perversely  enough,  but  with  an  eye  to  truth 
all  the  same. 

"  Nothing  that  I  say  to  her  now  is  of  the  very 
least  importance,  Victoria." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Much  what  you  do,"  I  rejoined,  and  fell  to 
smoking  again. 

Victoria  began  to  walk  about  the  room.  I  en- 
dured patiently.  My  eyes  were  fixed  on  Walden- 
weiter.  I  wondered  idly  whether  the  scene  of  despair 
had  been  enacted  yet. 

"  It's  not  the  smallest  good  making  ourselves  un- 
happy about  it,"  Victoria  announced,  just  as  she  was 
on  the  turn  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  Not  the  smallest,"  I  agreed. 

"  It's  much  too  late." 

"  A  great  deal  too  late." 

Victoria  darted  down  and  kissed  my  cheek. 

"  After  all,  she  ought  to  think  herself  very  lucky," 
she  decided.  "  I'm  sure  everybody  else  considers 
her  so." 

"  Under  such  circumstances,"  said  I,  "  it's  sheer 
perversity  in  her  to  have  her  own  feelings  on  the 
matter." 

"  But  you  said  something  that  upset  her  last 
night,"  remarked  my  sister,  with  a  return  to  the  point 
which  I  hoped  she  had  lost  sight  of.  This  time  I 
lowered  my  guard  in  surrender. 

"  Certainly.     I  tried  to  make  love  to  her,"  said  I. 


UT    PUTO,  VESTIS   FIO.  277 

"  There,  you  see !  "  she  cried  reproachfully.  Her 
censure  of  the  irrelevant  intrusion  of  such  a  subject 
was  eloquent  and  severe. 

"  It  was  all  Wetter's  fault,"  I  remarked,  sighing. 

"  Good  gracious  !  what's  it  got  to  do  with  Wetter  ? 
I  hate  the  man!  "  As  she  spoke  her  eyes  fell  on  a 
box  which  stood  on  my  writing-table.  "  What's 
that?"  she  asked. 

"  Diamonds,"  I  answered.  "  The  necklace  for 
Elsa." 

"You  bought  the  big  one  you  spoke  of?  Oh, 
Augustin,  how  fortunate !  " 

I  looked  up  at  Victoria  and  smiled. 

"  My  dear  Victoria,"  said  I,  "  it  is  the  finger  of 
Providence.  I'll  present  them  to  her  after  luncheon." 

"  Yes,  do ;  and  mind  you  don't  upset  her  again." 

Alas !  I  had  no  desire  to  "  upset  "  her  again.  The 
fit  had  passed ;  my  only  relations  toward  it  were 
those  of  an  astonished  spectator  or  a  baffled  analyst. 
It  was  part  of  the  same  mood  that  had  converted 
Artenberg  into  a  hall  of  revelry,  of  most  unwonted 
revelry.  But  to-day,  with  Princess  Heinrich  frown- 
ing, heaven  at  a  discount,  and  everybody  rather 
ashamed  of  themselves,  was  it  likely  that  I  should 
desire  to  upset  her  again  ?  The  absence  of  any  such 
wish,  combined  with  the  providential  diamonds, 
would  (it  might  reasonably  be  hoped)  restore  tran- 
quillity to  Elsa.  Victoria  was  quite  of  this  optimistic 
opinion. 

Our  interview  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of 
Bederhof,  who  came  to  take  my  final  commands  with 
regard  to  the  marriage  arrangements.  The  whole 
programme  was  drawn  out  neatly  on  a  sort  of  chart 
(minus  the  rocks  and  shoals,  of  course).  The  Duchess 
and  her  daughter  were  to  stay  at  Artenberg  for  an- 


278  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

other  week ;  it  would  then  be  the  end  of  August.  On 
the  ist  of  September  they  would  reach  home,  remain 
there  till  the  ist  of  October,  when  they  and  the  Duke 
would  set  out  for  Forstadt ;  they  were  to  make  their 
formal  entry  on  the  4th,  and  on  the  I2th  (a  week 
being  allowed  for  repose,  festivities,  and  preparations) 
the  marriage  would  be  solemnized ;  in  the  evening  of 
that  day  Elsa  and  I  were  to  come  back  to  Artenberg 
to  pass  the  first  days  of  our  married  life. 

"  I  hope  your  Majesty  approves  ?."  said  Bederhof. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  I.  "  Let  us  go  and  find  the 
Princess.  Hers  must  be  the  decisive  word ;  "  and 
with  my  programme  in  one  hand  and  my  diamonds 
in  the  other  I  repaired  to  the  Duchess's  room,  Beder- 
hof following  in  high  contentment. 

I  imagine  that  there  must  have  been  a  depression 
in  my  looks,  involuntary  but  reassuring.  It  is  cer- 
tain that  Elsa  received  me  with  more  composure  than 
I  had  ventured  to  hope.  She  studied  Bederhofs 
chart  with  grave  attention ;  she  and  her  mother  put 
many  questions  as  to  the  ceremonial ;  there  was  no 
doubt  that  Elsa  was  very  much  interested  in  the  mat- 
ter. Presently  my  mother  came  in  ;  the  privy  coun- 
cil round  Bederhof  grew  more  engrossed.  The  Chan- 
cellor was  delighted ;  one  could  almost  see  the  flags 
and  hear  the  cannon  as  his  descriptive  periods  rolled 
out.  Princess  Heinrich  sat  listening  with  a  rather 
bitter  smile,  but  she  did  not  cut  him  short.  I  leaned 
over  the  back  of  her  chair.  Once  or  twice  Elsa 
glanced  at  me,  timidly  but  by  no  means  uncheerfully. 
Behind  the  cover  of  the  chair-back  I  unfastened  my 
box  and  got  out  my  necklace.  Then  I  waited  for 
Elsa's  next  look.  It  seemed  entirely  in  keeping  with 
the  occasion  that  I,  as  well  as  Bederhof,  should  have 
my  present  for  her,  my  ornament,  my  toy. 


UT    PUTO,  VESTIS   FIO.  279 

"  Their  Majesties'  carriage  will  be  drawn  by  four 
gray  horses,"  said  Bederhof.  The  good  Duchess 
laughed,  laid  her  hand  on  Elsa's,  and  whispered, 
"  Their  Majesties !  "  Elsa  blushed,  laughed,  and 
again  glanced  at  me.  My  moment  had  come.  I  held 
up  my  toy. 

"  Their  Majesties  will  be  dressed  in  their  very 
best  clothes,"  said  I,  "  with  their  hair  nicely  brushed, 
and  perhaps  one  of  them  will  be  so  charming  as  to 
wear  a  necklace,"  and  I  tossed  the  thing  lightly  over 
the  chair-back  into  Elsa's  lap. 

She  caught  it  with  a  little  cry,  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment,  whispered  in  her  mother's  ear,  jumped  up, 
and,  blushing  still,  ran  round  and  kissed  me. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  she  cried. 

I  kissed  her  hand  and  her  cheek.  My  mother 
smiled,  patiently  it  seemed  to  me ;  the  Duchess  was 
tremulously  radiant ;  Bederhof  obviously  benign.  It 
was  a  pretty  group,  with  the  pretty  child  and  her 
pretty  toy  for  the  centre  of  it.  Suddenly  I  looked  at 
my  mother ;  she  nodded  ever  so  slightly.  I  was  ap- 
plauded and  commanded  to  persevere. 

Bederhof  pursued  his  description.  He  went 
through  it  all;  he  rose  to  eloquence  in  describing 
our  departure  from  Forstadt.  This  scene  ended,  he 
seemed  conscious  of  a  bathos.  It  was  in  a  dull, 
rather  apologetic  tone  that  he  concluded  by  re- 
marking : 

"  Their  Majesties  will  arrive  at  Artenberg  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  will  partake  of  dinner." 

There  appeared  to  be  no  desire  to  dwell  on  this 
somewhat  inglorious  conclusion  to  so  eventful  a  day. 
A  touch  of  haste  betrayed  itself  in  my  mother's  man- 
ner as  she  asked  for  the  list  of  the  guests.  Elsa  had 
dropped  her  necklace  in  her  lap,  and  sat  looking  be- 


280  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

fore  her  with  an  absent  expression.  The  names  of 
distinguished  visitors,  however,  offered  a  welcome 
diversion.  We  were  all  in  very  good  spirits  again  in 
a  few  minutes.  Presently  the  names  bored  Elsa ;  she 
jumped  up,  ran  to  a  mirror,  and  tried  on  her  neck- 
lace. The  names  bored  me  also,  but  I  stood  where 
I  was.  Soon  a  glance  from  her  summoned  me,  and 
I  joined  her.  The  diamonds  were  round  her  neck, 
squeezed  in  above  the  high  collar  of  her  morning 
gown. 

"  They'll  look  lovely  in  the  evening,"  she  said. 

"  You'll  have  lots  more  given  you,"  I  assured 
her. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  she  asked,  in  gleefulness 
dashed  with  incredulity. 

"  Scores,"  said  I  solemnly. 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for — for  everything," 
she  said  almost  in  a  whisper,  with  a  sort  of  penitence 
that  I  understood  well  enough,  and  an  obvious  desire 
to  show  every  proper  feeling  toward  me. 

"  I  delight  to  please  you  above  all  things  now," 
I  answered;  but  even  to  myself  the  words  sounded 
cold  and  formal.  Yet  they  were  true ;  it  was  above 
all  things  my  wish  to  persuade  her  that  she  was 
happy.  To  this  end  I  used  eagerly  the  aid  of  the  four 
(or  was  it  six?)  gray  horses,  the  necklace,  and  "  Their 
Majesties." 

In  the  next  few  days  I  was  much  with  Elsa,  but 
not  much  alone  with  her.  There  was,  of  course,  no 
want  of  ready  company,  but  most  of  those  who 
offered  themselves  merely  intensified  the  constraint 
which  their  presence  was  expected  to  remove.  Even 
Victoria  overdid  her  part  rather,  betraying  an  ex- 
aggerated fear  of  leaving  us  to  ourselves.  Varvil- 
liers'  admirable  tact,  his  supreme  apparent  uncon- 


UT    PUTO,  VESTIS   FIO.  281 

sciousness,  and  his  never-failing  flow  of  gaiety  made 
him  our  ideal  companion.  I  missed  in  him  that  sym- 
pathy with  my  sombre  moods  which  bound  me  to 
Wetter,  spirit  to  spirit;  but  for  lighter  hours,  for 
hours  that  must  be  made  light,  he  was  incomparable. 
With  him  Elsa  bloomed  into  merriment,  and  being, 
as  it  were,  midway  between  us,  he  seemed  to  me  to 
bridge  the  gulf  of  mind  and  temperament  that  sepa- 
rated her  from  me.  Hour  by  hour  she  grew  happier, 
less  timid,  more  her  true  self.  I  took  great  comfort 
from  this  excellent  state  of  things.  No  doubt  I  must 
be  careful  not  to  upset  her  (as  Victoria  said),  but  she 
was  certainly  getting  used  to  me  (as  William  Adol- 
phus  said).  Moreover,  I  was  getting  used  to  her, 
to  the  obligations  she  expressed,  and  to  the  renuncia- 
tions she  involved.  But  I  had  no  more  wish  to  try 
to  upset  her. 

It  must  be  a  familiar  fact  to  many  that  we  are 
very  prone  to  mistake  or  confuse  the  sources  of  our 
pleasure  and  the  causes  of  such  contentment  as  we 
achieve.  We  attribute  to  our  surroundings  in  gen- 
eral what  is  due  to  one  especial  part  of  them ;  for 
the  sake  of  one  feature  the  landscape's  whole  aspect 
seems  pleasant ;  we  rob  Peter  with  intent  to  pay  Paul, 
and  then  in  the  end  give  the  money  to  somebody 
else.  It  is  not  difficult  to  see  how  Elsa  and  I  came 
to  think  that  we  got  on  better  with  one  another 
because  we  both  got  on  so  well  with  Varvilliers,  that 
we  were  more  comfortable  together  because  he  made 
us  both  comfortable,  that  we  came  nearer  to  un- 
derstanding each  other  because  he  understood  us 
so  admirably.  We  did  not  perceive  even  that  he 
was  the  occasion  of  our  improved  relations,  far  less 
did  we  realize  that  he  was  their  cause  and  their 
essence;  that  it  was  to  him  I  looked,  to  him  she 
19 


282  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

looked ;  and  that  while  he  was  between  there  could 
be  no  rude  direct  contact  of  her  eyes  with  mine,  nor 
of  mine  with  hers.  Onlookers  see  most  of  the  game, 
they  say,  but  here  the  onlookers  were  as  blind  as  the 
players ;  there  was  an  air  of  congratulation  at  Arten- 
berg ;  the  King  and  his  bride  were  drawing  closer 
together.  The  blindness  was  complete ;  Varvilliers 
himself  shared  it.  Of  his  absolute  good  faith  and 
utter  unconsciousness  I,  who  doubt  most  things, 
can  not  doubt.  Had  he  been  Wetter,  I  should  have 
been  alert  for  the  wry  smile  and  the  lift  of  the  brows ; 
but  he  was  his  simple  self,  a  perfect  gentleman  un- 
spoiled by  thought.  Such  are  entirely  delightful ; 
that  they  work  infinite  havoc  with  established  rela- 
tions between  other  people  seems  a  small  price  to  pay 
for  the  privilege  which  their  existence  confers  upon 
the  world.  My  dear  friend  Varvilliers,  for  whom 
my  heart  is  always  warm,  played  the  mischief  with 
the  relations  between  Elsa  and  myself,  which  we 
all  (very  whimsically)  supposed  him  to  be  im- 
proving. 

It  was  a  comparatively  small,  although  an  inter- 
estingly unusual,  thing  that  I  came  to  enjoy  Elsa's 
society  coupled  with  Varvilliers',  and  not  to  care 
much  about  it  taken  alone ;  it  was  a  more  serious, 
though  far  more  ordinary,  turn  of  affairs  that  Elsa 
should  come  to  be  happy  enough  with  me  provided 
that  Varvilliers  were  there  to — shall  I  say  to  take  the 
edge  off  me? — but  cared  not  a  jot  to  meet  me  in  his 
absence.  The  latter  circumstance  is  simply  and  con- 
ventionally explained  (and,  after  all,  these  conven- 
tional expressions  are  no  more  arbitrary  than  the 
alphabet,  which  is  admitted  to  be  a  useful  means  of 
communicating  our  ideas)  by  saying  that  Elsa  was 
falling  in  love  with  Varvilliers ;  my  own  state  of  mind 


UT    PUTO,  VESTIS   FIO.  283 

would  deserve  analysis,  but  for  a  haunting  notion  that 
no  states  of  mind  are  worth  such  trouble.  Let  us 
leave  it ;  there  it  was.  It  was  impossible  to  say  which 
of  us  would  miss  Varvilliers  more.  He  had  become 
necessary  to  both  of  us.  The  conclusion  drawn  by 
the  way  of  this  world  is,  of  course,  at  once  obvious ; 
it  followed  pat  from  the  premise.  We  must  both  of 
us  be  deprived  of  him  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  not 
concerned  to  argue  that  the  world  is  wrong;  and 
the  very  best  way  to  advance  a  paradox  is  to  look 
as  though  you  were  uttering  a  platitude.  In  this  art 
the  wittiest  writer  cuts  a  poor  figure  beside  the  laws 
of  society. 

The  end  of  the  week  approached.  Elsa  was  to 
go  ;  Varvilliers  was  to  go.  So  the  arrangement  stood  ; 
Elsa  was  to  return,  about  Varvilliers'  return  nothing 
had  been  said.  The  bandage  was  still  over  the  eyes 
of  all  of  us ;  we  had  not  perceived  the  need  of 
settling  anything  about  him.  He  was  still  as  in- 
significant to  us  as  he  was  to  Princess  Heinrich 
herself. 

This  being  the  state  of  the  case,  there  enters  to 
me  one  morning  my  good  Cousin  Elizabeth,  tear- 
fully radiant  and  abundantly  maternal.  T*he  reason 
was  soon  declared.  Elsa  had  been  found  crying 
again,  and  wondering  vaguely  what  she  was  cry- 
ing about.  It  was  suggested  to  her  that  her  grief 
was  due  to  approaching  departure ;  Elsa  embraced 
the  idea  at  once.  It  was  pointed  out  that  a  month's 
absence  from  me  was  involved;  Elsa  sighed  deeply 
and  dabbed  her  eyes.  Cousin  Elizabeth  dabbed  hers 
as  she  told  the  story ;  then  she  caught  me  in  her 
arms,  kissed  me,  and  said  that  her  happiness  was 
complete.  What  was  I  to  do?  I  was  profoundly 
surprised,  but  any  display  of  that  emotion  would 


284  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

have  been  inappropriate  and  ungracious.  I  could 
appear  only  compassionate  and  gratified. 

"  Things  do  happen  right  sometimes,  you  see," 
pursued  Cousin  Elizabeth,  triumphing  in  this  refuta- 
tion of  some  little  sneer  of  mine  which  she  had  con- 
tested the  day  before.  "  I  knew  you  had  come  to  care 
for  her,  and  now  she  cares  for  you.  I  never  was  in- 
different to  that  side  of  it.  I  always  hoped.  And 
now  it  really  is  so !  Kiss  me,  Augustin  dear." 

I  kissed  Cousin  Elizabeth.  I  was  miles  away  in 
thought,  lost  in  perplexed  musings. 

"  I  comforted  her,  and  told  her  that  the  time 
would  soon  pass,  and  that  then  she  would  have 
you  all  to  herself,  with  no  tiresome  people  to  inter- 
rupt. But  the  poor  darling  still  cried  a  little.  But 
one  can't  really  grieve,  can  one?  A  little  sorrow 
means  so  much  happiness  later  on,  doesn't  it?  And 
though  I  couldn't  comfort  her,  you'll  be  able  to,  I 
daresay.  What's  a  month  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  I.  I  was  conscious  of  realizing 
that  it  was  at  all  events  very  little. 

"  I  shall  expect  to  see  her  quite  smiling  after 
she's  had  a  little  talk  with  you,"  was  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth's parting  speech.  It  won  from  me  a  very  re- 
assuring nod,  and  left  me  in  mazes  of  bewilderment. 
There  was  nothing  in  particular  which  I  believed,  but 
I  disbelieved  one  thing  very  definitely.  It  was  that 
Elsa  wept  because  she  must  be  absent  from  me  for  a 
month — a  month  delightfully  busied  with  the  mak- 
ing of  four  hundred  frocks. 

Impelled  partly  by  duty  but  more  by  curiosity, 
I  went  in  search  of  her.  Having  failed  to  find  her  in 
the  house  or  on  the  terrace,  I  descended  into  the 
hanging  woods,  and  made  for  an  arbour  which  she 
and  I  and  Varvilliers  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  fre- 


UT   PUTO,  VESTIS   FIO.  285 

quenting.  A  broad  grass  path  ran  up  to  the  front 
of  it,  but,  coming  as  I  did,  I  approached  it  by  a  side 
track.  Elsa  sat  on  the  seat  and  Varvilliers  stood  be- 
fore her.  He  was  talking ;  she  leaned  forward  listen- 
ing, with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap  and  her  eyes 
fixed  on  his  face.  Neither  perceived  me.  I  walked 
briskly  toward  them,  without  loitering  or  spying, 
but  I  did  not  call  out.  Varvilliers'  talk  was  light,  if 
it  might  be  judged  by  his  occasional  laughs.  When 
I  was  ten  yards  off  I  called,  "  Hallo,  here  you  are !  " 
He  turned  with  a  little  start,  but  an  easy  smile.  Elsa 
flushed  red.  I  had  not  yet  apprehended  the  truth, 
although  now  the  idea  was  dimly  in  my  mind.  I  sat 
down  by  Elsa,  and  we  talked.  Of  what  I  have  for- 
gotten. I  think,  in  part,  of  William  Adolphus,  I 
laughing  at  my  brother-in-law,  Varvilliers  feigning 
to  defend  him  with  good-humoured  irony.  It  did  not 
matter  of  what  we  talked.  For  me  there  was  signifi- 
cance in  nothing  save  in  Elsa's  eyes.  They  were  all 
for  Varvilliers,  for  him  sparkled,  for  him  clouded,  for 
him  wondered,  laughed,  applauded,  lived.  Presently 
I  dropped  out  of  the  conversation  and  sat  silent,  fac- 
ing this  new  thing.  It  was  not  bitter  to  me ;  my 
mood  of  desire  had  gone  too  utterly.  There  was  no 
pang  of  defeated  rivalry.  But  I  knew  why  Elsa  had 
cried,  who  had  power  to  bring,  and  who  also  had 
power  to  dry,  her  tears. 

Suddenly  I  saw,  or  seemed  to  see,  a  strange  and 
unusual  restraint  in  Varvilliers'  manner.  He  missed 
the  thread  of  a  story,  stumbled,  grew  dull,  and  lost 
his  animation.  He  seemed  to  talk  now  for  duty,  not 
for  pleasure,  as  a  man  who  covers  an  awkward 
moment  rather  than  employs  to  the  full  a  happy 
opportunity.  Then  his  glance  rested  for  an  in- 
stant on  my  face.  I  do  not  know  what  or  how 


286  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

much  my  face  told  him,  but  I  did  not  look  at  him 
unkindly. 

"  I  must  go,  if  I  may,"  he  said  addressing  me.  "  I 
promised  to  ride  with  Vohrenlorf,  and  the  time  is 
past." 

He  bowed  to  Elsa  and  to  me. 

"  We  shall  see  you  this  afternoon  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  bowed  again  in  acquiescence,  but  with  an  air 
of  discomfort.  Elsa  looked  at  him,  and  from  him  to 
me.  She  flushed  again,  opened  her  lips,  but  did  not 
speak ;  then  she  bent  her  head  down,  and  the  blush 
spread  from  neck  to  forehead. 

"  Go,  my  dear  friend,  go,"  said  I. 

He  looked  at  me  as  though  he  would  have  spoken, 
almost  as  though  he  would  have  protested  or  ex- 
cused himself,  inadmissible  as  such  a  thing  plainly 
was.  I  smiled  at  him,  but  waved  my  hand  to  dismiss 
him.  He  turned  and  walked  quickly  away  along 
the  broad  grass  path.  I  watched  him  till  he  was  out 
of  sight ;  all  the  while  I  was  conscious  of  an  utter 
motionlessness  in  Elsa's  figure  beside  me. 

We  must  have  sat  there  a  long  while  in  that  un- 
broken eloquent  silence,  hardly  moving,  never  look- 
ing at  one  another.  For  her  I  was  full  of  grief;  a 
wayward  thing  it  was,  indeed,  of  fate  to  fashion  out 
of  Varvilliers'  pleasant  friendship  this  new  weapon  of 
attack.  She  had  been  on  the  way  to  contentment — • 
at  least  to  resignation — but  was  now  thrust  back. 
And  she  was  ashamed.  Poor  child  !  why,  in  Heaven's 
name,  should  she  be  ashamed?  Should  she  not  bet- 
ter have  been  ashamed  of  a  fancy  so  ill  directed  as 
to  light  on  me  when  Varvilliers  was  by  ?  For  myself 
I  seemed  to  see  rising  before  me  the  need  for  a  new 
deception,  a  hoodwinking  of  all  the  world,  a  secret 
that  none  must  know  or  suspect,  that  she  and  I  must 


UT    PUTO,  VESTIS   FIO.  287 

have  between  us  for  our  own.  The  thing  might  pass  ; 
she  was  young.  Very  likely,  but  it  would  not  pass 
in  time.  There  were  the  frocks.  Ah,  but  the  ward- 
robe that  half  hid  me  would  not  suffice  to  obscure 
Varvilliers.  Or  would  it?  I  smiled  for  an  instant. 
Instead  of  hiding  behind  the^wardrobe,  I  saw  myself 
becoming  part  of  it,  blending  with  it.  Should  I  take 
rank  as  the  four-hundred-and-first  frock  ?  "  Willing- 
ly give  thyself  up  to  Clotho,  allowing  her  to  spin  thy 
thread  into  whatever  things  she  pleases."  Even  into 
a  frock,  O  Emperor  ?  Goes  the  philosophy  as  far  as 
that? 

At  last  I  turned  to  her  and  laid  my  hand  gently 
on  her  clasped  hands. 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "  we  must  be  going 
back.  They'll  all  be  looking  for  us.  We're  too  im- 
portant people  to  be  allowed  to  hide  ourselves." 

As  I  spoke  I  jumped  to  my  feet,  holding  out  my 
hand  to  help  her  to  rise.  She  looked  up  at  me  in  an 
oddly  pathetic  way.  I  was  afraid  that  she  was  going 
to  speak  of  the  matter,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  speaking  of  it.  "  Give  me  your  hand,"  I 
said  with  a  smile,  and  she  obeyed.  The  pleading  in 
her  eyes  persisted.  As  she  stood  up,  I  kissed  her 
lightly  on  the  forehead.  Then  we  walked  away  to- 
gether. 

That  afternoon  I  was  summoned  to  Princess 
Heinrich's  room  to  drink  tea  with  her  and  the  Duch- 
ess. Cousin  Elizabeth  was  still  exuberant ;  it  seemed 
to  me  that  a  cold  watchfulness  governed  my  mother's 
mood.  Relations  between  my  mother  and  myself 
have  not  always  been  cordial ;  but  I  have  never  failed 
to  perceive  and  respect  in  her  a  fine  inner  sincer- 
ity, an  aptitude  for  truth  and  a  resolute  facing  of 
facts.  While  Cousin  Elizabeth  talked,  the  Princess 


288  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

sat  smiling  with  her  usual  faint  smile ;  it  never  showed 
the  least  inclination  to  become  a  laugh.  She  acqui- 
esced politely  in  the  rose-coloured  description  of 
Elsa's  feelings  and  affections.  She  had  perception 
enough  to  know  that  the  picture  could  not  be  true. 
Presently  I  took  the  liberty  of  informing  her  by  a 
glance  that  I  was  not  a  partner  in  the  delusion.  She 
showed  no  surprise ;  but  the  fruit  of  my  act  was  that 
she  detained  me  by  a  gesture,  after  Cousin  Elizabeth 
had  taken  her  leave.  For  a  few  moments  she  sat 
silent ;  then  she  remarked : 

"  The  Duchess  is  a  very  kind  woman,  very  anx- 
ious to  make  everybody  happy." 

"  Yes,"  said  I  carelessly. 

"  But  it  must  be  in  her  own  way.  She  is  ro- 
mantic. She  thinks  everybody  else  must  be  the 
same.  You  and  I  know,  Augustin,  that  things  of 
that  kind  occupy  a  very  small  part  of  a  man's  life. 
My  sex  deludes  itself.  And  when  a  man  occupies  the 
position  you  do,  it's  absurd  to  suppose  that  he  pays 
much  attention  to  them." 

"  No  doubt  Cousin  Elizabeth  exaggerates,"  said 
I,  standing  in  a  respectful  attitude  before  my 
mother. 

"  Well,  I  daresay  you  remember  the  time  when 
Victoria  was  a  girl.  You  recollect  her  folly?  But 
you  and  I  were  firm — you  behaved  very  well  then, 
Augustin — and  the  result  is  that  she  is  most  suitably 
and  most  happily  married." 

I  bowed.  I  did  not  think  that  any  agreement  of 
mine  could  be  worthy  of  the  magnificent  boldness  of 
Princess  Heinrich's  statement. 

"  Girls  are  silly ;  they  pass  through  a  silly  time," 
she  pursued,  smiling. 

A  sudden  remembrance  shot  across  me. 


UT   PUTO,  VESTIS   FIO.  289 

"  It  doesn't  do  to  take  any  notice  of  such  things," 
said  I  gravely. 

Happily,  perhaps,  Princess  Heinrich  was  not 
awake  to  the  fact  that  she  herself  was  being  quoted 
to  herself. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  she  said.  "  You 
have  your  work  to  do.  Don't  waste  your  time  in 
thinking  of  girls'  megrims — or  of  their  mothers' 
nonsense." 

I  left  her  presence  with  a  strong  sense  that  Provi- 
dence had  erred  in  not  making  her  a  saint,  a  king, 
or  anything  else  that  demands  a  resolute  repression 
of  human  infirmities.  Some  people  are  content  to 
triumph  over  their  own  weaknesses ;  my  mother  had 
an  eye  also  for  the  frailty  of  others. 

She  made  no  reference  at  all  to  Varvilliers.  There 
was  always  something  to  be  learned  from  Princess 
Heinrich.  From  early  youth  I  was  inured  to  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  painfulness  in  the  lesson. 

"  Willingly  give  thyself  up  to  Clotho."  My 
mother  was  more  than  willing.  She  was  proud ;  and, 
if  I  may  be  allowed  to  vary  the  metaphor,  she  em- 
barked on  the  ship  of  destiny  with  a  family  ticket. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

A   PARADOX   OF   SENSIBILITY. 

To  many  the  picture  presented  by  my  life  might 
seem  that  of  a  man  who  detects  the  trap  and  yet 
walks  into  it,  sinks  under  burdens  that  he  might 
cast  aside,  groans  at  chains  that  he  could  break,  and 
will  not  leave  the  prison  although  the  door-key  is 
in  his  pocket.  Such  an  impression  my  record  may 
well  give,  unless  it  be  understood  that  what  came 
upon  me  was  not  an  impossibility  of  movement,  but 
a  paralysis  of  the  will  to  move.  In  this  there  is  noth- 
ing peculiar  to  one  placed  as  I  was.  Most  men  could 
escape  from  what  irks,  confines,  or  burdens  them  at 
the  cost  of  effacing  their  past  lives,  breaking  the  con- 
tinuity of  existence,  cutting  the  cord  that  binds  to- 
gether, in  a  sequence  of  circumstances  and  incidents, 
youth,  and  maturity,  and  age.  But  who  can  do  the 
thing?  One  man  in  a  thousand,  and  he  generally  a 
scoundrel. 

Our  guests  returned  to  Bartenstein,  the  Duchess 
still  radiant  and  maternal,  Elsa  infinitely  kind,  in- 
finitely apologetic,  a  little  tearful,  never  for  an  in- 
stant wavering  in  her  acceptance  of  the  future.  Var- 
villiers  took  leave  of  me  with  great  friendliness  ;  there 
was  in  his  air  now  just  a  hint  of  amusement,  most 
decorously  suppressed ;  he  was  charmingly  uncon- 
scious of  any  possible  seriousness  in  the  position. 
290 


A   PARADOX   OF   SENSIBILITY. 


29I 


My  mother  went  to  visit  Styrian  relatives.  Victoria 
and  William  Adolphus  had  taken  a  villa  by  the  sea- 
side. I  was  quite  alone  at  Artenberg,  save  for  my 
faithful  Vohrenlorf,  and  Vohrenlorf  was  bored  to 
death.  That  will  not  appear  strange ;  to  me  it  seemed 
enviable.  A  prisoner  under  sentence  probably  dis- 
cerns much  that  is  attractive  even  in  the  restricted 
life  of  his  jailer. 

In  a  day  or  two  there  came  upon  me  a  persist- 
ent restlessness,  and  with  it  constant  thoughts  of 
Wetter.  I  wondered  where  he  was  and  what  he  did ; 
I  longed  to  share  the  tempestuousness  of  his  life  and 
thoughts.  He  brought  with  him  other  remem- 
brances, of  the  passions  and  the  events  that  we  two 
had,  in  friendship  or  hostility,  witnessed  together. 
They  had  seemed,  all  of  them,  far  behind  in  the  past, 
belonging  to  the  days  when,  as  old  Vohrenlorf  had 
told  me,  I  had  still  six  years.  Now  I  had  only  a 
month ;  but  the  images  were  with  me,  importunate 
and  pleading.  I  was  asking  whether  I  could  not, 
even  now,  save  something  out  of  life. 

Three  days  later  found  me  established  in  a  hotel 
in  the  Place  Vendome  at  Paris,  Vohrenlorf  my  only 
companion.  I  was  in  strictest  incognito;  Baron  de 
Neberhausen  was  my  name.  But  in  Paris  in  August 
my  incognito  was  almost  a  superfluity  for  me,  although 
a  convenience  to  others.  It  was  very  hot ;  I  did  not 
care.  The  town  was  absolutely  empty.  Not  for  me ! 
Here  is  my  secret.  Wetter  was  in  Paris.  I  had  seen 
it  stated  in  the  newspaper.  What  brought  the  man 
of  moods  to  Paris  in  August?  I  could  answer  the 
question  in  one  way  only :  the  woman  of  his  mood. 
I  did  not  care  about  her;  I  wanted  to  see  him  and 
hear  again  from  his  own  lips  what  he  thought  of  the 
universe,  of  my  part  and  his  in  it,  and  of  the  ways 


292  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

of  the  Power  that  ruled  it.  In  a  month  I  should 
be  on  my  honeymoon  with  Cousin  Elsa.  I  fought 
desperately  against  the  finality  implied  in  that. 

On  the  second  evening  I  gave  Vohrenlorf  the 
slip,  and  went  out  on  the  Boulevards  alone.  In  great 
cities  nobody  is  known;  I  enjoyed  the  luxury  of 
being  ignored.  I  might  pass  for  a  student,  a  chemist, 
at  a  pinch,  perhaps,  for  a  poet  of  a  reflective  type. 
My  natural  manner  would  seem  no  more  than  a  touch 
of  youth's  pardonable  arrogance.  I  sat  down  and 
had  some  coffee.  It  was  half-past  ten,  and  the  pave- 
ments were  full.  I  bought  a  paper  and  read  a  para- 
graph about  Elsa  and  myself.  Elsa  and  myself  both 
seemed  rather  a  long  way  off.  It  was  delicious  to 
make  believe  that  this  here  and  this  now  were  reality ; 
the  kingship,  Elsa,  the  wedding  and  the  rest,  some 
story  or  poem  that  I,  the  student,  had  been  making 
laboriously  before  working  hours  ended,  and  I  was 
free  to  seek  the  Boulevards.  I  was  pleased  when  a 
pretty  girl,  passing  by,  stared  hard  at  me  and  seemed 
to  like  my  looks ;  this  tribute  was  my  own ;  she  was 
not  staring  at  the  king. 

Satisfaction,  not  surprise,  filled  me  when,  in  about 
twenty  minutes,  I  saw  Wetter  coming  toward  the 
cafe.  I  had  taken  a  table  far  back  from  the  street, 
and  he  did  not  see  me.  The  glaring  gaslight  gave 
him  a  deeper  paleness  and  cut  the  lines  of  his  face 
to  a  sharper  edge.  He  was  talking  with  great  ani- 
mation, his  hands  moving  constantly  in  eager  ges- 
ture. I  was  within  an  ace  of  springing  forward  to 
greet  him — so  my  heart  went  out  to  him — but  the 
sight  of  his  companion  restrained  me,  and  I  sat 
chuckling  and  wondering  in  my  corner.  There  they 
were,  large  as  life,  true  to  Varvilliers'  description ; 
the  big  stomach  and  the  locket  that  a  hyperbole,  so 


"My  dear  friend,  have  you  forgotten  me?" 


A   PARADOX   OF   SENSIBILITY.  293 

inevitable  as  to  outstrip  mere  truth  in  fidelity,  had 
called  bigger.  Besides  there  were  the  whiskers,  the 
heavy  jowl,  the  infinite  fatness  of  the  man,  a  fatness 
not  of  mere  flesh  only,  but  of  manner,  of  air,  of 
thought,  of  soul.  There  was  no  room  for  doubt  or 
question.  This  was  Coralie's  impresario,  Coralie's 
career,  her  duty,  her  destiny ;  in  a  word,  everything 
to  Coralie  that  poor  little  Cousin  Elsa  was  to  me. 
Nay,  your  pardon ;  that  I  was  to  Cousin  Elsa.  I 
put  my  cigar  back  in  my  mouth  and  smoked  gravely ; 
it  seemed  improper  to  laugh. 

The  two  men  sat  down  at  an  outer  table.  Wetter 
was  silent  now,  and  Struboff  (I  remembered  suddenly 
that  I  had  seen  Coralie  described  as  Madame  Man- 
soni-Struboff)  was  talking.  I  could  almost  see  the 
words  treacling  from  his  thick  lips.  What  in  Heav- 
en's name  made  him  Wetter's  companion  ?  What  in 
Heaven's  name  made  me  such  a  fool  as  to  ask  the 
question  ?  Men  like  Struboff  can  have  but  one 
merit,  and,  to  be  fair,  but  one  serious  crime.  It  is 
the  same ;  they  are  the  husbands  of  their  wives. 

I  could  contain  myself  no  longer.  I  rose  and 
walked  forward.  I  laid  my  hand  on  Wetter's  shoul- 
der, saying: 

"  My  dear  friend,  have  you  forgotten  me — Baron 
de  Neberhausen  ?  " 

He  looked  up  with  a  start,  but  when  he  saw  me 
his  eyes  softened.  He  clasped  my  hand. 

"Neberhausen?"  he  said. 

"  Yes ;  we  met  in  Forstadt." 

"  To  be  sure/'  he  laughed.  "  May  I  present  my 
friend  to  you?  M.  le  Baron  de  Neberhausen,  M. 
Struboff.  You  will  know  Struboff's  name.  He 
gives  us  the  best  operas  in  the  world,  and  the  best 
singing." 


294  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

"  M.  Struboff's  fame  has  reached  me,"  said  I,  sit- 
ting down. 

Evidently  Struboff  did  not  know  me ;  he  received 
the  introduction  without  any  show  of  deference.  I 
was  delighted.  I  should  have  seen  little  of  the  true 
man  had  he  been  aware  from  the  first  who  I  was. 
Things  being  as  they  were,  I  could  flatter  him,  and 
he  had  no  motive  for  flattering  me.  A  mere  baron 
had  no  effect  on  him.  He  resumed  the  interrupted 
conversation ;  he  was  telling  Wetter  how  he  could 
make  money  out  of  music,  and  then  more  music  out 
of  the  money,  then  more  money  out  of  the  music, 
and  so  on,  in  an  endless  chain  of  music  and  money, 
money  and  music,  money,  music,  money.  Wetter  sat 
looking  at  him  with  a  smile  of  malicious  mockery. 

"  Happy  man !  "  he  cried  suddenly.  "  You  love 
only  two  things  in  the  world,  and  you've  married 
both." 

Struboff  pulled  his  whisker  meditatively. 

"  Yes,  I  have  done  well,"  he  said,  and  drained  his 
glass.  "  But  hasn't  Coralie  done  well  too  ?  Where 
would  she  have  been  but  for  me  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  Struboff,  there's  no  telling,  but 
I  suppose  in  the  arms  of  somebody  else." 

"  Your  own,  for  example?  "  growled  the  husband. 

"  Observe  the  usual  reticences,"  said  Wetter,  with 
a  laugh.  "  My  dear  Baron,  Struboff  mocks  my  mis- 
ery by  a  pretended  jealousy.  You  can  reassure  him. 
Did  Madame  Mansoni  ever  favour  me?  " 

"  I  can  speak  only  of  what  I  know,"  I  answered, 
smiling.  "  She  never  favoured  you  before  me." 

He  caught  the  ambiguity  of  my  words,  and 
laughed  again.  Struboff  turned  toward  me  with  a 
stare. 

"  You  also  knew  my  wife?  "  he  asked. 


A   PARADOX   OF   SENSIBILITY.  295 

"  I  had  the  honour,"  said  I.    "  In  Forstadt." 

"  In  Forstadt!     Do  you  know  the  king?  " 

"  Not  so  well  as  I  could  wish/'  I  answered. 
"  About  as  well  as  I  know  Wetter  here." 

"  That's  admirably  well !  "  cried  Wetter.  "  Well 
enough  not  to  trust  me." 

The  fat  man  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us 
in  an  obtuse  suspicion  of  our  hilarity. 

"  The  king  admired  my  wife's  talents,"  said  he. 
"  We  intend  to  visit  Forstadt  next  year." 

"  Do  you?"  said  I,  and  Wetter's  peal  broke  out 
again. 

"  The  king  will  find  my  wife's  talent  much  in- 
creased by  training,"  pursued  Struboff. 

"  Damn  your  wife's  talent !  "  said  Wetter,  quite 
suddenly.  "  You  talk  as  much  about  it  as  she  does 
of  your  beauty." 

"  I  hope  madame  is  well  ?  "  I  interposed  quickly 
and  suavely,  for  Struboff  had  grown  very  red  and 
gave  signs  of  temper.  Wetter  did  not  allow  him  to 
answer.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  dragged  Struboff 
up  by  the  arm. 

"  Take  his  other  arm !  "  he  cried  to  me.  "  Bring 
him  along.  Come,  come,  we'll  all  go  and  see  how 
madame  is." 

"  It's  nearly  eleven,"  remonstrated  Struboff  sour- 
ly. "  I  want  to  go  to  bed." 

"You?  You  go  to  bed?  You,  with  your  crimes, 
go  to  bed  ?  Why,  you  couldn't  sleep !  You  would 
cower  all  night !  Go  to  bed  !  Oh,  my  dear  Struboff, 
think  better  of  it.  No,  no,  we'll  none  of  us  go  to  bed. 
Bed's  a  hell  for  men  like  us.  For  you  above  all ! 
Think  again,  Struboff,  think  again  !  " 

Struboff  shrugged  his  fat  shoulders  in  helpless 
bad  temper.  I  was  laughing  so  much  (at  what,  at 


296 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


what?)  that  I  could  hardly  do  my  part  in  hustling 
him  along.  Wetter  set  a  hot  pace,  and  Struboff 
soon  began  to  pant. 

"  I  can't  walk.    Call  a  cab !  "  he  gasped. 

"  Cab  ?  No,  no.  We  can't  sit  still.  Conscience, 
my  dear  Struboff !  Post  equitem — you  know.  There's 
nothing  like  walking  for  sinners  like  us.  Bring  him 
along,  Baron,  bring  him  along !  " 

"  Perhaps  M.  Struboff  doesn't  desire  our  com- 
pany," I  suggested. 

"  Perhaps !  "  shouted  Wetter,  with  a  laugh  that 
turned  a  dozen  heads  toward  him.  "  Oh,  my  dear 
Struboff,  do  you  hear  this  suggestion  of  our  friend 
the  baron's  ?  What  a  pity  you  have  no  breath  to  re- 
pudiate it !  " 

But  now  we  were  escaping  from  the  crowd. 
Crossing  in  front  of  the  Opera  House,  we  made  for 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  The  pace  became  smarter  still ; 
not  only  was  Struboff  breathless  with  being  dragged 
along,  but  I  was  breathless  with  dragging  him.  I 
insisted  on  a  cab.  Wetter  yielded,  planted  Struboff 
and  me  side  by  side,  and  took  the  little  seat  facing 
us  himself.  Here  he  sat,  smiling  maliciously,  as  the 
poor  impresario  mopped  his  forehead  and  fetched  up 
deep  gasps  of  breath.  Where  lay  the  inspiration  of 
this  horseplay  of  Wetter's  ? 

"  Quicker,  quicker !  "  he  cried  to  the  driver.  "  I 
am  impatient,  my  friends  are  impatient.  Quick, 
quick !  Only  God  is  patient." 

"  He's  mad,"  grunted  Struboff.  "  He's  quite 
mad.  The  devil,  I'm  hot !  " 

Wetter  suddenly  assumed  an  air  of  great  dignity 
and  blandness. 

"  In  offering  to  present  us  to  madame  at  an  hour 
possibly  somewhat  late,"  he  said,  "  our  dear  M.  Stru- 


A   PARADOX   OF   SENSIBILITY. 


297 


boff  shows  his  wonted  amiability.  We  should  be 
failing  in  gratitude  if  we  did  not  thank  him  most 
sincerely." 

"  I  didn't  ask  you  to  come,"  growled  Struboff. 

Wetter  looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  grieved  sur- 
prise, but  said  nothing  at  all.  He  turned  to  me  with 
a  ridiculous  look  of  protest,  as  though  asking  for  my 
support.  I  laughed ;  the  mad  nonsense  was  so  wel- 
come to  me. 

We  stopped  before  a  tall  house  in  the  Rue  Wash- 
ington ;  Wetter  bundled  us  out  with  immense  haste. 
There  were  lights  in  the  second-floor  windows. 
"  Madame  expects  us !  "  he  cried  with  a  rapturous 
clasping  of  his  hands.  "  Come,  come,  dear  Struboff ! 
— Baron,  Baron,  pray  take  Struboff's  arm ;  the  steps 
to  heaven  are  so  steep." 

Struboff  seemed  resigned  to  his  fate ;  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  pushed  upstairs  without  expostulation. 
He  opened  the  door  for  us,  and  ushered  us  into  the 
passage.  As  he  preceded  us,  I  had  time  for  one 
whisper  to  Wetter. 

"  You're  still  mad  about  her,  are  you  ?  "  I  said, 
pinching  his  arm. 

"  Still  ?  Good  Heavens,  no !  Again !  "  he  an- 
swered. 

The  door  that  faced  us  was  thrown  open,  and 
Coralie  stood  before  me  in  a  loose  gown  of  a  dark- 
red  colour.  Before  she  could  speak,  Wetter  darted 
forward,  pulling  me  after  him. 

"  I  have  the  distinguished  honour  to  present  my 
friend,  M.  de  Neberhausen,"  he  said.  "  You  may 
remember  meeting  him  at  Forstadt." 

Coralie  looked  for  a  moment  at  each  of  us  in 
turn.  She  smiled  and  nodded  her  head. 

"  Perfectly,"  she  said ;  "  but  it  is  a  surprise  to  see 

20 


298 


THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 


him  here,  a  very  pleasant  surprise."  She  gave  me 
her  hand,  which  I  kissed  with  a  fine  flourish  of 
gallantry. 

"  This  gentleman  knows  the  King  very  well,"  said 
Struboff,  nodding  at  her  with  a  solemn  significance. 
"  There's  money  in  that !  "  he  seemed  to  say. 

"  Does  he?"  she  asked  indifferently;  and  added 
to  me,  "  Pray  come  in.  I  was  not  expecting  visitors ; 
you  must  make  excuses  for  me." 

She  did  not  seem  changed  in  the  least  degree. 
There  was  the  same  indolence,  the  same  languid, 
slow  enunciation.  It  struck  me  in  a  moment  that 
she  ignored  her  husband's  presence.  He  had  gone 
to  a  sideboard  and  was  fingering  a  decanter.  Wetter 
flung  himself  on  a  sofa. 

"  It  is  really  you?  "  she  asked  in  a  whisper,  with 
a  lift  of  her  eyelids. 

"  Oh,  without  the  least  doubt ! "  I  answered. 
"And  it  is  you  also?" 

'Struboff  came  forward,  tumbler  in  hand. 

''Pray,  is  your  King  fond  of  music?"  he  asked. 

"  He  will  adore  it  from  the  lips  of  Madame  Stru- 
boff," I  answered,  bowing. 

"  He  adored  it  from  the  lips  of  Mile.  Mansoni," 
observed  Wetter,  with  a  malicious  smile.  Struboff 
glared  at  him ;  Coralie  smiled  slightly.  An  inkling 
of  Wetter's  chosen  part  came  into  my  mind.  He 
had  elected  to  make  Struboff  uncomfortable ;  he  did 
not  choose  that  the  fat  man  should  enjoy  his  vic- 
tory in  peace.  My  emotions  chimed  in  with  his  re- 
solve, but  reason  suggested  that  the  ethical  merits 
were  more  on  Struboff's  side.  He  was  Coralie's 
career ;  the  analogy  of  my  own  relation  toward  Elsa 
urged  that  he  who  is  a  career  is  entitled  to  civility. 
Was  not  I  Elsa's  Struboff?  I  broke  into  a  sudden 


A    PARADOX   OF    SENSIBILITY. 


299 


laugh ;  it  passed  as  a  tribute  to  Wetter's  acid  cor- 
rection. 

"  You  are  studying  here  in  Paris,  madame  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Coralie.  "  Why  else  should  we  be 
here  now  ?  " 

"  Why  else  should  I  be  here  now  ?  "  asked  WTet- 
ter.  "  For  the  matter  of  that,  Baron,  why  else  should 
you  be  here  now?  Why  else  should  anybody  be 
here  now?  It  is  even  an  excuse  for  StrubofFs  pres- 
ence." 

"  I  need  no  excuse  for  being  in  my  own  home," 
said  Struboff,  and  he  gulped  down  his  liquor. 

Wetter  sprang  up  and  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"  You  are  becoming  fatter  and  fatter  and  fatter. 
Presently  you  will  be  round,  quite  round ;  they'll 
make  a  drum  of  you,  and  I'll  beat  you  in  the  orches- 
tra while  madame  sings  divinely  on  the  boards. 
Come  and  see  if  we  can  possibly  avoid  this  thing," 
and  he  led  him  off  to  the  sofa.  There  they  began 
to  talk,  Wetter  suddenly  dropping  his  burlesque  and 
allowing  a  quiet,  earnest  manner  to  succeed  his  last 
outburst.  I  caught  some  mention  of  thousands  of 
francs;  surely  there  must  be  a  bond  of  interest,  or 
Wetter  would  have  been  turned  out  before  now. 

Coralie  moved  toward  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
which  was  long,  although  narrow.  I  followed  her. 
As  she  sat  down  she  remarked : 

"  He  has  lent  Struboff  twenty  thousand  francs ; 
but  for  that  I  must  have  sung  before  I  was  ready." 

The  situation  seemed  a  little  clearer. 

"  But  he  is  curious,"  she  pursued,  fixing  a  pa- 
tiently speculative  eye  on  Wetter.  "  You  would  say 
that  he  was  fond  of  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  possible  reason  for  his  presence." 


300 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


"  He  doesn't  show  it,"  said  she,  with  a  shrug. 

I  understood  that  little  point  in  Wetter's  code; 
besides,  his  humour  seemed  just  now  too  bitter  for 
love-making.  If  Coralie  felt  any  resentment,  it  did 
not  go  very  deep.  She  turned  her  eyes  from  Wetter 
to  my  face. 

"  You're  going  to  be  married  very  soon  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  In  a  month,"  said  I.  "  I'm  having  my  last 
fling.  You  perceived  our  high  spirits  ?  " 

"  I've  seen  her  picture.  She's  pretty.  And  I've 
seen  the  Countess  von  Sempach." 

"  You  know  about  her?  " 

"  Have  you  forgotten  that  you  used  to  speak  of 
her?  Ah,  yes,  you've  forgotten  all  that  you  used 
to  say !  The  Countess  is  still  handsome." 

"  What  of  that?    So  are  you." 

"  True,  it  doesn't  matter  much,"  Coralie  admitted. 
"  Does  your  Princess  love  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  love  your  husband?  " 

A  faint  slow  smile  bent  her  lips  as  she  glanced  at 
Struboff — himself  and  his  locket. 

"  Nobody  acts  without  a  motive,"  said  I.  "  Not 
even  in  marrying." 

The  bitterness  that  found  expression  in  this  little 
sneer  elicited  no  sympathetic  response  from  Coralie. 
I  was  obliged  to  conclude  that  she  considered  her 
marriage  a  success ;  at  least  that  it  was  doing  what 
she  had  expected  from  it.  At  this  moment  she 
yawned  in  her  old,  pretty,  lazy  way.  Certainly  there 
were  no  signs  of  romantic  misery  or  tragic  disillu- 
sionment about  her.  Again  I  asked  myself  whether 
my  sympathy  were  not  more  justly  due  to  Struboff — 
Struboff,  who  sat  now  smoking  a  big  cigar  and  wob- 
bling his  head  solemnly  in  answer  to  the  emphatic 


A   PARADOX   OF   SENSIBILITY.  301 

taps  of  Welter's  forefinger  on  his  waistcoat.  The 
question  was  whether  human  tenderness  lay  any- 
where under  those  wrappings ;  if  so,  M.  Struboff 
might  be  a  proper  object  of  compassion,  his  might  be 
the  misery,  his  (O  monstrous  thought!)  the  disillu- 
sionment. But  the  prejudice  of  beauty  fought  hard  on 
Coralie's  side.  I  always  find  it  difficult  to  be  just  to 
a  person  of  markedly  unpleasant  appearance.  I  was 
piqued  to  much  curiosity  by  these  wandering  ideas ; 
I  determined  to  probe  Struboff  through  the  layers. 

Soon  after  I  took  my  leave.  Coralie  pressed  me 
to  return  the  next  day,  and  before  I  could  speak 
Wetter  accepted  the  invitation  for  me.  There  was 
no  very  strong  repugnance  in  Struboff 's  face ;  I 
should  not  have  heeded  it  had  it  appeared.  Wetter 
prepared  to  come  with  me.  I  watched  his  farewell 
to  Coralie ;  his  smile  seemed  to  mock  both  her  and 
himself.  She  was  weary  and  dreary,  but  probably 
only  because  she  wanted  her  bed.  It  was  a  mistake, 
as  a  rule,  to  attribute  to  her  other  than  the  simplest 
desires.  The  moment  we  were  outside,  Wetter 
turned  on  me  with  a  savagely  mirthful  expression 
of  my  own  thoughts. 

"  A  wretched  thing  to  leave  her  with  him?  Not 
the  least  in  the  world !  "  he  cried.  "  She  will  sleep 
ten  hours,  eat  one,  sing  three,  sleep  three,  eat  two, 
sleep Have  I  run  through  the  twenty-four?" 

"  Well,  then,  why  are  we  to  disturb  ourselves?" 
I  asked. 

"  Why  are  we  to  disturb  ourselves  ?  Good  God, 
isn't  it  enough  that  she  should  be  like  that  ?  " 

I  laughed,  as  I  blew  out  my  cigarette  smoke. 

'*  This  is  an  old  story,"  said  I.  "  She  is  not  in 
love  with  you,  I  suppose?  That's  it,  isn't  it?" 

"  It's  not  the  absence  of  the  fact,"  said  he,  with 


302  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

a  smile ;  "  it's  the  want  of  the  potentiality  that  is 
so  deplorable." 

"  Why  torment  Strubofr,  though  ?  " 

"  Struboff? "  he  repeated,  knitting  his  brows. 
"  Ah,  now  Struboff  is  worth  tormenting !  You 
won't  believe  me ;  but  he  can  feel." 

"  I  was  right,  then ;  I  thought  he  could." 

"You  saw  it?" 

"  My  prospects,  perhaps,  quicken  my  wits." 

My  arm  was  through  his,  and  he  pressed  it  be- 
tween his  elbow  and  his  side. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  perversity  runs  through  it 
all.  She  should  feel ;  he  should  not.  It  seems  she 
doesn't,  but  he  does.  Heavens,  would  you  accept 
such  a  conclusion  without  the  fullest  experiment? 
For  me,  I  am  determined  to  test  it." 

"  Still  you're  in  love  with  her." 

"  Agreed,  agreed,  agreed.  A  man  must  have  a 
spur  to  knowledge." 

We  parted  at  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and  I 
strolled  on  alone  to  my  hotel.  Vohrenlorf  was  wait- 
ing for  me,  a  little  anxious,  infinitely  sleepy.  I  dis- 
missed him  at  once,  and  sat  down  to  read  my  letters. 
I  had  the  feeling  that  I  would  think  about  all  these 
matters  to-morrow,  but  I  was  also  pervaded  by  a 
satisfaction.  My  mind  was  being  fed.  The  air  here 
nourished,  the  air  of  Artenberg  starved.  I  compli- 
mented Paris  on  a  virtue  not  her  own ;  the  house 
in  the  Rue  Washington  was  the  source  of  my  satis- 
faction. 

There  was  a  letter  from  Varvilliers ;  he  wrote 
from  Hungary,  where  he  was  on  a  visit.  Here  is 
something  of  what  he  said : 

"  There  is  a  charming  lady  here,  and  we  fall  in 


A   PARADOX   OF   SENSIBILITY. 


303 


love,  all  according  to  mode  and  fashion.  (The  but- 
tons are  on  the  foils,  pray  understand.)  It  is  the 
simplest  thing  in  the  world ;  the  whole  process 
might,  as  I  believe,  be  digested  into  twelve  elemen- 
tary motions  or  thereabouts.  The  information  is 
given  and  received  by  code ;  it  is  like  playing  whist. 
'  How  much  have  you  ?  '  her  eyes  ask.  '  A  passion/ 
I  answer  by  the  code.  '  I  have  a  penchant'  comes 
from  her  side  of  the  table.  ^  I  am  leading  up  to  it/ 
say  I.  '  I  am  returning  the  lead.'  Good !  But  then 
comes  hers  (or  mine),  '  I  have  no  more/  Alas ! 
Well  then,  I  lead,  or  she  leads,  another  suit.  It's  a 
good  game ;  and  our  stakes  are  not  high.  You,  sire, 
would  like  signals  harder  to  read,  I  know  your 
taste.  You're  right  there.  And  don't  you  make  the 
stakes  higher  ?  I  have  plunged  into  indiscretion ; 
if  I  did  not,  you  would  think  that  Bederhof  had 
forged  my  handwriting.  Unless  I  am  stopped  on  the 
frontier  I  shall  be  in  Forstadt  in  three  weeks/' 

I  dropped  the  letter  with  a  laugh,  wondering 
whether  the  charming  lady  played  the  game  as  he 
did  and  a  stake  as  light.  Or  did  she  suffer?  Well, 
anybody  can  suffer.  The  talent  is  almost  universal. 
There  was,  it  seemed,  reason  to  suppose  that  Stru- 
boff  suffered.  I  acquiesced,  but  with  a  sense  of  dis- 
content. Pain  should  not  be  vulgarized.  Varvilliers' 
immunity  gave  him  a  new  distinction  in  my  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

WHAT  A   QUESTION  ! 

STRUBOFF'S  inevitable  discovery  of  my  real  name 
was  a  disaster;  it  delayed  my  operations  for  three 
days,  since  it  filled  his  whole  being  with  a  sense  of 
abasement  and  a  hope  of  gain,  thereby  suspending 
for  the  time  those  emotions  in  him  which  had  ex- 
cited my  curiosity.  Clearly  he  had  unstinted  visions 
of  lucrative  patronage,  dreams,  probably,  of  a  piece 
of  coloured  ribbon  for  his  button-hole,,  and  a  right 
to  try  to  induce  people  to  call  him  "  Chevalier." 
He  made  Coralie  a  present,  handsome  enough.  I 
respected  the  conscientiousness  of  this  act;  my 
friendship  was  an  unlooked-for  profit,  a  bonus  on  the 
marriage,  and  he  gave  his  wife  her  commission.  But 
he  seemed  cased  in  steel  against  any  confidence ;  he 
trembled  as  he  poured  me  out  a  glass  of  wine.  He 
had  pictured  me  only  as  a  desirable  appendage  to  a 
gala  performance;  it  is,  of  course,  difficult  to  real- 
ize that  the  points  at  which  people  are  important  to 
us  are  not  those  at  which  they  are  important  to  them- 
selves. However  I  made  progress  at  last.  The 
poor  man's  was  a  sad  case ;  the  sadder  because  only 
with  constant  effort  could  the  onlooker  keep  its  sad- 
ness disengaged  from  its  absurdity,  and  remember 
that  unattractiveness  does  not  exclude  misery.  The 
wife  in  a  marriage  of  interest  is  the  spoiled  child  of 
304 


WHAT   A   QUESTION  !  305 

romancers ;  scarcely  any  is  rude  enough  to  say, 
"  Well,  who  put  you  there  ?  "  The  husband  in  such 
a  partnership  gains  less  attention ;  at  the  most,  he  is 
allowed  a  subordinate  share  of  the  common  stock 
of  woe.  The  clean  case  for  observation — he  miser- 
able, she  miles  away  from  any  such  poignancy  of 
emotion — was  presented  by  Coralie's  consistency. 
It  was  not  in  her  to  make  a  bargain  and  pull  grimaces 
when  she  was  asked  to  fulfil  it.  True,  she  interpreted 
it  in  her  own  way.  "  I  promised  to  marry  you. 
Well,  I  have.  How  are  you  wronged,  nwn  cherf 
But  did  I  promise  to  speak  to  you,  to  like  you? 
Mon  Dieu!  who  promised,  or  would  ever  promise,  to 
love  you  ?  "  The  mingled  impatience  and  amuse- 
ment of  such  questions  expressed  themselves  in  her 
neglect  of  him  and  in  her  yawns.  Under  his  locket, 
and  his  paunch,  and  his  layers,  he  burned  with  pain ; 
Wetter  was  laying  the  blisters  open  to  the  air,  that 
their  sting  might  be  sharper.  At  last,  sorely  beset, 
he  divined  a  sympathy  in  me.  He  thought  it  disinter- 
ested, not  perceiving  that  he  had  for  me  the  fascina- 
tion of  a  travesty  of  myself,  and  that  in  his  marriage 
I  enjoyed  a  burlesque  presentiment  of  what  mine 
would  be.  That  point  of  view  was  my  secret  until 
Wetter's  quick  wit  penetrated  it;  he  worked  days 
before  he  found  out  why  I  was  drawn  to  the  im- 
presario; his  discovery  was  hailed  with  a  sudden 
laugh  and  a  glance,  but  he  put  nothing  into  words. 
Both  to  him  and  to  me  the  thing  was  richer  for 
reticence ;  in  the  old  phrase,  the  drapery  enhanced 
the  charms  which  it  did  not  hide. 

A  day  came  when  I  asked  the  husband  to  lunch- 
eon with  me.  I  sent  Vohrenlorf  away ;  we  sat  down 
together,  Struboff  swelling  with  pride,  seeing  him- 
self telling  the  story  in  the  wings,  meditating  the 


306  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

appearance  and  multiplication  of  paragraphs.  I  said 
not  a  word  to  discourage  the  visions ;  we  talked  of 
how  Coralie  should  make  fame  and  he  money;  he 
grew  enthusiastic,  guttural,  and  severe  on  the  Stein- 
berg. I  ordered  more  Steinberg,  and  fished  for  more 
enthusiasm.  I  put  my  purse  at  his  disposal ;  he 
dipped  his  fingers  deep,  with  an  anxious  furtive 
eagerness.  The  loan  was  made,  or  at  least  pledged, 
before  it  flashed  across  my  brain  that  the  money 
was  destined  for  Wetter — he  wanted  to  pay  off  Wet- 
ter. We  were  nearing  the  desired  ground. 

"  My  dear  M.  Struboff,"  said  I,  "  you  must  not 
allow  yourself  to  be  embarrassed.  Great  properties 
are  slow  to  develop ;  but  I  have  patience  with  my  in- 
vestments. Clear  yourself  of  all  claims.  Money 
troubles  fritter  away,  a  man's  brains,  and  you  want 
yours." 

He  muttered  something  about  temporary  scar- 
city. 

"  It  would  be  intolerable  that  madame  should  be 
bothered  with  such  matters,"  I  said. 

He  gulped  down  his  Steinberg  and  gave  a  snort. 
The  sound  was  eloquent,  although  not  sweet.  I  filled 
his  glass  and  handed  him  a  cigar.  He  drank  the 
wine,  but  laid  the  cigar  on  the  table  and  rested  his 
head  on  his  hand. 

"  And  women  like  to  have  money  about,"  I  pur- 
sued, looking  at  the  veins  on  his  forehead. 

"  I've  squandered  money  on  her,"  he  said.  "  Good 
money." 

"  Yes,  yes.  One's  love  seeks  every  mode  of  ex- 
pression. I'm  sure  she's  grateful." 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  me.  I  was  smok- 
ing composedly. 

"  Were  you  once  in  love  with  my  wife  ?  "  he  asked 


WHAT   A   QUESTION  !  30? 

bluntly.  His  deference  wore  away  under  the  cor- 
rosion of  Steinberg  and  distress. 

"  Let  us  choose  our  words,  my  dear  M.  Struboff. 
Once  I  professed  attachment  to  Mile.  Mansoni." 

"  She  loved  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  discourteous  not  to  accept  any  impression 
that  a  lady  wishes  to  convey  to  you,"  I  answered, 
smiling. 

"  Ah,  you  know  her !  "  he  cried,  bringing  his  fist 
down  on  the  table. 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  I  assured  him. 
"  Her  beauty,  her  charm,  her  genius — yes,  we  all 
know  those.  But  her  soul !  That's  her  husband's 
prerogative." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  during  which  he 
still  looked  at  me,  his  thick  eyelids  half  hiding  the 
pathetic  gaze  of  his  little  eyes. 

"  My  life's  a  hell !  "  he  said,  and  laid  his  head 
between  his  hands  on  the  table.  I  saw  a  shudder 
in  his  fat  shoulders. 

"  My  dear  M.  Struboff,"  I  murmured,  as  I  rose* 
and  walked  round  to  him.  I  did  not  like  touching 
him,  but  I  forced  myself  to  pat  his  shoulder  kindly. 
"  Women  take  whims  and  fancies,"  said  I,  as  I 
walked  back  to  my  seat. 

He  raised  his  head  and  set  his  chin  between  his 
fists. 

"  She  took  me  for  what  she  could  get  out  of  me," 
said  he. 

"  Shall  we  be  just?  Didn't  you  look  to  get  some- 
thing out  of  her?  " 

"  Yes.  I  married  her  for  that,"  he  answered. 
"  But  I'm  a  damned  fool !  I  saw  that  she  loathed  me ; 
it  isn't  hard  to  see.  You  see  it ;  everybody  sees  it." 

"  And  you  fell  in  love  with  her?    That  was  break- 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

ing  the  bargain,  wasn't  it?"  It  crossed  my  mind 
that  I  might  possibly  break  my  bargain  with  Elsa. 
But  the  peril  was  remote. 

"  My  God,  it's  maddening  to  be  treated  like  a 
beast.  Am  I  repulsive,  am  I  loathsome  ?  " 

"  What  a  question,  my  dear  M.  Struboff !  " 

"  And  I  live  with  her.  It  is  for  all  day  and  every 
day." 

"  Come,  come,  be  reasonable.  We're  not  love- 
sick boys." 

"  If  I  touch  a  piece  of  bread  in  giving  it  to  her, 
she  cuts  herself  another  slice." 

How  I  understood  you  in  that,  O  dainty  cruel 
Coralie ! 

"  And  that  devil  comes  and  laughs  at  me." 

"  He  needn't  come,  if  you  don't  wish  it." 

"  Perhaps  it's  better  than  being  alone  with  her," 
he  groaned.  "  And  she  doesn't  deceive  me.  Ah, 
I  should  like  sometimes  to  say  to  her,  '  Do  what  you 
like;  amuse  yourself,  I  shall  not  see.  It  wouldn't 
matter.'  If  she  did  that,  she  mightn't  be  so  hard  to 
me.  You  wonder  that  I  say  this,  that  I  feel  it  like 
this?  Well,  I'm  a  man;  I'm  not  a  dog.  I  don't 
dirty  people  when  I  touch  them." 

I  got  up  and  walked  to  the  hearthrug.  I  stood 
there  with  my  back  to  him.  He  blew  his  nose  loudly, 
then  took  the  bottle ;  I  heard  the  wine  trickle  in  the 
glass  and  the  sound  of  his  noisy  swallowing.  There 
was  a  long  silence.  He  struck  a  match  and  lit  his 
cigar.  Then  he  folded  up  the  notes  I  had  given  him, 
and  the  clasp  of  his  pocket-book  clicked. 

"  I  have  to  go  with  her  to  rehearsal,"  he  said. 

I  turned  round  and  walked  toward  him.  His 
uneasy  deference  returned,  he  jumped  up  with  a  bow 
and  an  air  of  awkward  embarrassment. 


WHAT   A   QUESTION!  309 

"  Your  Majesty  is  very  good.  Your  Majesty  par- 
dons me?  I  have  abused  your  Majesty's  kindness. 
You  understand,  I  have  nobody  to  speak  to." 

"  I  understand  very  well,  M.  Struboff.  I  am  very 
sorry.  Be  kind  to  her  and  she  will  change  toward 
you." 

He  shook  his  head  ponderously. 

"  She  won't  change,"  he  said,  and  stood  shuffling 
his  feet  as  he  waited  to  be  dismissed.  I  gave  him 
my  hand.  (O  Coralie,  you  and  your  bread!  I  un- 
derstood.) 

"  She'll  get  accustomed  to  you,"  I  murmured, 
with  a  reminiscence  of  William  Adolphus. 

"  I  think  she  hates  me  more  every  day."  He 
bowed  over  my  hand,  and  backed  out  with  clumsy 
ceremony. 

I  flung  myself  on  the  sofa.  Was  not  the  bur- 
lesque well  conceived  and  deftly  fashioned?  True, 
I  did  not  seem  to  myself  much  like  Struboff.  There 
was  no  comfort  in  that ;  Struboff  did  not  seem  to 
himself  much  like  what  he  was.  "  Am  I  repulsive, 
am  I  loathsome  ? "  he  cried  indignantly,  and  my 
diplomacy  could  answer  only,  "  What  a  question,  my 
dear  M.  Struboff !  "  If  I  cried  out,  asking  whether 
I  were  so  unattractive  that  my  bride  must  shrink 
from  me,  a  thousand  shocked  voices  would  answer  in 
like  manner,  "  Oh,  sire,  what  a  question !  " 

Later  in  the  day  I  called  on  Coralie  and  found 
her  alone.  Speaking  as  though  from  my  own  ob- 
servation, I  taxed  her  roundly  with  her  coldness  to 
Struboff  and  with  allowing  him  to  perceive  her  dis- 
taste for  him.  I  instanced  the  matter  of  the  bread, 
declaring  that  I  had  noticed  it  when  I  breakfasted 
with  them.  Coralie  began  to  laugh. 

"Do  I  do  that?     Well,  perhaps  I  do.     You've 


310  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

felt  his  hand  ?  It  is  not  very  pleasant.  Yes,  I  think 
I  do  take  another  piece." 

"  He  observes  it." 

"  Oh,  I  think  not.  He  doesn't  care.  Besides 
he  must  know.  Have  I  pretended  to  care  for  him? 
Heavens,  I'm  no  hypocrite.  We  knew  very  well 
what  we  wanted,  he  and  I.  We  have  each  got  it. 
But  kisses  weren't  in  the  bargain." 

"And  you  kiss  nobody  now?" 

"  No,"  she  answered  simply  and  without  offence. 
"  No.  Wetter  doesn't  ask  me,  and  you  know  I  never 
felt  love  for  him ;  if  he  did  ask  me,  I  wouldn't.  These 
things  are  verv  troublesome.  And  you  don't  ask 
me." 

"  No,  I  don't,  Coralie,"  said  I,  smiling. 

"  I  might  kiss  you,  perhaps." 

"  I  have  something  to  give  too,  have  I  ?" 

"  No,  that  would  be  no  use.  I  should  make 
nothing  out  of  you.  And  the  rest  is  nonsense.  No, 
I  wouldn't  kiss  you,  if  you  did  ask." 

"  Perhaps  Wetter  will  ask  you  now.  I  have  lent 
your  husband  money,  and  he  will  pay  Wetter  off." 

"  Ah,  perhaps  he  will  then ;  he  is  curious,  Wet- 
ter. But  I  shan't  kiss  him.  I  am  very  well  as 
I  am." 

"Happy?" 

"  Yes ;  at  least  I  should  be,  if  it  were  not  for 
Struboff.  He  annoys  me  very  much.  You  know, 
it's  like  an  ugly  picture  in  the  room,  or  a  clog  one 
hates.  He  doesn't  say  or  do  much,  but  he's  there 
always.  It  frets  me." 

"  Madame,  my  sympathy  is  extreme." 

"  Oh,  your  sympathy !  You're  laughing  at  me. 
I  don't  care.  You're  going  to  be  married  yourself." 

"  What  you  imply  is  not  very  reassuring." 


WHAT   A   QUESTION! 

"  It's  all  a  question  of  what  one  expects,"  she 
said  with  a  shrug. 

"  My  wife  won't  mind  me  touching  her  bread?  " 
I  asked  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  no,  she  won't  mind  that.  You're  not  like 
that.  Oh,  no,  it  won't  be  in  that  way." 

"  I  declare  I'm  much  comforted." 

"  Indeed  you  needn't  fear  that.  In  some  things 
all  women  are  alike.  You  needn't  fear  anything  of 
that  sort.  No  woman  could  feel  that  about  you." 

"  I  grow  happier  every  moment.  I  shouldn't 
have  liked  Elsa  to  cut  herself  another  slice." 

Coralie  laughed,  sniffed  the  roses  I  had  brought, 
and  laughed  again,  as  she  said : 

"  In  fact  I  do.  I  remember  it  now.  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  rude ;  it  came  natural  to  do  it ;  as  if  the 
piece  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  you  know." 

Evidently  Struboff  had  analyzed  his  wife's  feel- 
ings very  correctly.  I  doubted  both  the  use  and  the 
possibility  of  enlightening  her  as  to  his.  Kisses  were 
not  in  the  bargain,  she  would  say.  After  all,  the 
desire  for  affection  was  something  of  an  incongruity 
in  Struboff,  an  alien  weed  trespassing  on  the  ground 
meant  for  music  and  for  money.  I  could  hardly 
blame  her  for  refusing  to  foster  the  intruder.  I  felt 
that  I  should  be  highly  unjust  if,  later  on,  I  laid  any 
blame  on  Elsa  for  not  satisfying  a  desire  for  affection 
should  I  chance  to  feel  such  a  thing.  And  as  to  the 
bread  Coralie  had  quite  reassured  me.  I  looked  at 
her.  She  was  smiling  in  quiet  amusement.  Evi- 
dently her  fancy  was  tickled  by  the  matter  of  the 
bread. 

"  You  notice  a  thing  like  that,"  she  said.  "  But 
he  doesn't.  Imagine  his  noticing  it !  " 

"  I  can  imagine  it  very  well." 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

"  Oh  no,  impossible.  He  has  no  sensibility. 
You  laugh?  Well,  yes,  perhaps  it's  lucky." 

During  the  next  two  or  three  days  I  was  engaged 
almost  unintermittently  with  business  which  followed 
me  from  home,  and  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing 
more  of  my  friends.  I  regretted  this  the  less,  be- 
cause I  seemed  now  to  be  possessed  of  the  state  of 
affairs.  I  resigned  myself  to  the  necessity  of  a 
speedy  return  to  Forstadt.  Already  Bederhof  was  in 
despair  at  my  absence,  and  excuses  failed  me.  I 
could  not  tell  him  that  to  return  to  Forstadt  was 
to  begin  the  preparations  for  execution;  a  point  at 
which  hesitation  must  be  forgiven  in  the  condemned. 
But  before  I  went  I  had  a  talk  with  Wetter. 

He  stormed  Vohrenlorf's  defences  and  burst  into 
my  room  late  one  night. 

"  So  we're  going  back,  sire?"  he  cried.  "  Back 
to  our  work,  back  to  harness  ?  " 

"  You're  going  too  ?  "  I  asked  quietly. 

He  threw  back  his  hair  from  his  forehead. 

"  Yes,  I  too,"  he  said.  "  Struboff  has  paid  me 
off;  I  have  played,  I  have  won,  I  am  rich,  I  desire 
to  serve  my  country.  You  don't  appear  pleased, 
sire?  " 

"  When  you  serve  your  country,  I  have  to  set 
about  saving  mine,"  said  I  dryly. 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  glad  of  the  distraction  of  public 
affairs,"  he  sneered. 

"  Madame  Mansoni-Struboff  has  not  fulfilled  my 
hopes  of  her.  I  thought  you'd  have  no  leisure  for 
politics  for  a  long  while  to  come." 

"  The  pupil  of  Hammerfeldt  speaks  to  me,"  he 
said  with  a  smile.  "  You  would  be  right,  very  likely, 
but  for  the  fact  that  madame  has  dismissed  me." 

"  You  use  a  conventional  phrase  ?  " 


WHAT   A   QUESTION!  3x3 

"  Well  then,  she  has — well,  yes,  I  do  use  a  con- 
ventional phrase." 

"  I  shall  congratulate  M.  Struboff  on  an  in- 
creased tranquillity." 

The  evening  was  chilly,  and  I  had  a  bit  of  fire. 
Wetter  sat  looking  into  it,  hugging  his  knees  and 
swaying  his  body  to  and  fro,  I  stood  on  the  hearth- 
rug by  him. 

"  I  have  still  time,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  I'm  a 
young  man.  I  can  do  something  still." 

"  You  can  turn  me  out,  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  turn  you  out." 

"  Use  me,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Tame  you,  perhaps." 

I  looked  down  at  him  and  I  laughed. 

"Why  do  you  laugh?"  he  asked.  ''I  thought 
I  should  have  roused  that  sleeping  dignity  of 
yours." 

"  Oh,  my  friend,"  said  I,  "  you  will  not  tame  me, 
and  you  will  not  do  great  things." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked,  briefly  and  brusquely. 

"  You'll  play  again,  you'll  do  some  mad  prank, 
some  other  woman  will — let  us  stick  to  our  phrase — 
will  not  dismiss  you.  When  an  irresistible  force  en- 
counters an  immovable  object —  You  know  the 
old  puzzle?" 

"  Interpret  your  parable,  O  King !  " 

"  When  a  great  brain  is  joined  to  an  impossible 
temper — result?  " 

;<  The  result  is  nothing,"  said  he,  taking  a  fresh 
grip  of  his  knees. 

"  Even  so,  even  so,"  I  nodded. 

"  But  I  have  done  things,"  he  persisted. 

"  Yes,  and  then  undone  them.  My  friend,  you're 
a  tragedy."  And  I  lit  a  cigarette. 

21 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

He  sat  where  he  was  for  a  moment  longer ;  then 
he  sprang  up  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"  A  tragedy !  A  tragedy !  If  I  make  one,  by 
Heaven  the  world  is  rich  in  them !  Take  Struboff 
for  another.  But  your  Majesty  is  wrong.  I'm  a 
farce." 

"  Yes,  you're  a  bit  of  a  farce,"  said  I. 

He  laid  his  hand  on  my  arm  and  looked  full  and 
long  in  my  face. 

"  So  you've  made  your  study  of  us?"  he  asked. 
"  Oh,  I  know  why  you  came  to  Paris !  Coralie, 
Struboff,  myself — you  have  us  all  now  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,"  said  I.  "  To  understand  people  is 
both  useful  and  interesting ;  and  to  a  man  in  my  posi- 
tion it  has  the  further  attraction  of  being  difficult." 

"  And  you  think  Bederhof  is  too  strong  for  me?  " 

"  He  is  stupid  and  respectable.  My  dear  Wetter, 
what  chance  have  you  ?  " 

"  There's  a  river  in  this  town.    Shall  I  jump  in?  " 

"  Heavens,  no !  You'd  set  it  all  a-hissing  and 
a-boiling." 

"  To-night,  sire,  I  thought  of  killing  Struboff." 

"  Ah,  yes,  the  pleasures  of  imagination !  I  often 
indulge  in  them." 

"  Then  a  bullet  for  myself." 

"  Of  course !  And  another  impresario  for  Co- 
ralie !  You  must  look  ahead  in  such  matters." 

"  It  would  have  made  a  great  sensation." 

"  Everywhere,  except  in  the  bosom  of  Coralie." 

"  Your  cleverness  robbed  the  world  of  that  other 
sensation  long  ago.  If  I  had  killed  you !  " 

"  It  would  have  been  another — another  impresario 
for  my  Princess." 

"  We  shall  meet  at  Forstadt  ?  You'll  ask  me  to 
the  wedding?  " 


WHAT   A   QUESTION!  315 

"  Unless  you  have  incurred  Princess  Heinrich's 
anger." 

"  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  settle  down." 

"  Never,"  said  I. 

"  Be  careful,  sire.  The  revolver  I  bought  for 
Struboff  is  in  my  pocket." 

"  Make  me  a  present  of  it,"  I  suggested. 

He  looked  hard  in  my  eyes,  laughed  a  little,  drew 
out  a  small  revolver,  and  handed  it  to  me. 

"  Struboff  was  never  in  great  danger,"  he  said. 

"  I  was  never  much  afraid  for  Struboff,"  said  I. 
"  Thanks  for  the  revolver.  You're  not  quibbling 
with  me?  " 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  There's  no  river  in  this  town ;  no  institution 
called  the  Morgue  ?  " 

•  "  Not  a  trace  of  such  things.    Do  you  know  why 
not?" 

"  Because  it's  the  king's  pleasure,"  said  I,  smil- 
ing and  holding  out  my  hand  to  him. 

"  Because  I'm  a  friend  to  a  friend,"  he  said,  as 
he  took  my  hand.  Then  without  another  word  he 
turned  and  walked  out  quickly.  I  heard  him  speak 
to  Vohrenlorf  in  the  outer  room,  and  laugh  loudly 
as  he  ran  down  the  stairs. 

He  had  reminded  me  that  I  was  a  pupil  of  Ham- 
merfeldt's.  The  reminder  came  home  to  me  as  a 
reproach.  I  had  been  forgetful  of  the  Prince's  les- 
sons ;  I  had  allowed  myself  to  fall  into  a  habit  of 
thought  which  led  me  to  assume  that  my  happiness 
or  unhappiness  was  a  relevant  consideration  in  judg- 
ing of  the  merits  of  the  universe.  The  assumption 
is  so  common  as  to  make  us  forget  that  so  far  from 
being  proved  it  is  not  even  plausible.  I  saw  the  ab- 
surdity of  it  at  once,  in  the  light  of  my  recent  dis- 


316  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

coverics.  Was  God  shamed  because  Struboff  was 
miserable,  because  Coralie  was  serenely  selfish,  be- 
cause Wetter  was  tempestuous  beyond  rescue?  I 
smiled  at  all  these  questions,  and  proceeded  to  the 
inference  that  the  exquisite  satisfaction  of  my -own 
cravings  was  probably  not  an  inherent  part  of  the 
divine  purpose.  That  is,  if  there  were  such  a  thing; 
and  if  there  were  not,  the  whole  matter  was  so  purely 
accidental  as  not  to  admit  of  any  one  consideration 
being  in  the  least  degree  more  or  less  relevant  than 
another.  "  Willingly  give  thyself  up  to  Clotho,  al- 
lowing her  to  spin  thy  thread  into  whatever  things 
she  pleases."  That  was  an  extremely  good  maxim ; 
but  it  would  have  been  of  no  service  to  cast  the  pearl 
before  Coralie's  impresario.  I  would  use  it  myself, 
though.  I  summoned  Vohrenlorf. 

"  We  have  stayed  here  too  long,  Vohrenlorf," 
said  I.  "  My  presence  is  necessary  in  Forstadt.  I 
must  not  appear  wanting  in  interest  in  these  prepara- 
tions." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  he,  "  they  are  very  anxious 
for  your  Majesty's  return." 

"  And  I  am  very  anxious  to  return.  We'll  go 
by  the  evening  train  to-morrow.  Send  word  to  Be- 
derhof." 

He  seemed  rather  surprised  and  not  very  pleased, 
but  promised  to  see  that  my  orders  were  executed. 
I  sat  down  in  the  chair  in  which  Wetter  had  sat,  and 
began  again  to  console  myself  with  my  Stoic  maxim. 
But  there  was  a  point  at  which  I  stuck.  I  recalled 
Coralie  and  her  bread,  and  regarded  Struboff  not  in 
the  aspect  of  his  own  misery  (which  I  had  decided 
to  be  irrelevant),  but  in  the  light  of  Coralie's  feelings. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  the  philosopher  should  have 
spared  more  consideration  to  this  side  of  the  matter. 


WHAT   A   QUESTION!  317 

Had  he  reached  such  heights  as  to  be  indifferent  not 
only  to  his  own  sufferings,  but  to  being  a  cause  of 
suffering  to  others?  Perhaps  Marcus  Aurelius  had 
attained  to  this ;  Coralie  Mansoni,  by  the  way, 
seemed  most  blessedly  to  have  been  born  into  it.  To 
me  it  was  a  stone  of  stumbling.  Pride  came  to  me 
with  insidious  aid  and  admired  while  I  talked  of 
Clotho ;  but  where  was  my  ally  when  I  pictured 
Elsa  also  making  her  surrender  to  the  Fates?  My 
ally  then  became  my  enemy.  With  a  violent  wrench 
I  brought  myself  to  the  thought  that  neither  was 
Elsa's  happiness  a  relevant  consideration.  It  would 
not  do,  I  could  not  maintain  the  position.  For  Elsa 
was  young,  fresh,  aspiring  to  happiness  as  a  plant 
rears  its  head  to  the  air.  And  our  wedding  was  but 
a  fortnight  off. 

"  Am  I  repulsive,  am  I  loathsome  ?  " 
"  What  a  question,  my  dear  M.  Struboff !  " 
I  had  that  snatch  of  talk  in  my  head  when  I  fell 
asleep. 

The  next  day  but  one  found  me  back  at  Forstadt. 
They  had  begun  to  decorate  the  streets. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   SMACK   OF   REPETITION. 

THE  contrast  of  outer  and  inner,  of  the  world's 
myself  and  my  own  myself,  of  others  as  they  seem 
to  me  and  to  themselves  (of  the  reality  they  may  be, 
through  inattention  or  dulness,  as  ignorant  as  I), 
which  is  the  most  permanent  and  the  dominant  im- 
pression that  life  has  stamped  on  my  mind,  was  never 
more  powerfully  brought  home  to  me  than  in  the 
days  which  preceded  my  marriage  to  my  cousin  Elsa. 
As  I  have  said,  they  had  begun  to  decorate  the 
streets ;  let  me  summarize  all  the  rest  by  repeating 
that  they  decorated  the  streets,  and  went  on  decorat- 
ing them.  The  decorative  atmosphere  enveloped  all 
external  objects,  and  wrapped  even  the  members  of 
my  own  family  in  its  spangled  cloud.  Victoria  blos- 
somed in  diamonds,  William  Adolphus  sprouted  in 
plumes;  my  mother  embodied  the  stately,  Cousin 
Elizabeth  a  gorgeous  heartiness ;  the  Duke's  eyes 
wore  a  bored  look,  but  the  remainder  of  his  person 
was  fittingly  resplendent.  Bederhof  was  Bumble  in 
Olympus ;  beyond  these  came  a  sea  of  smiles,  bows, 
silks,  and  uniforms.  Really  I  believe  that  the  whole 
thing  was  done  as  handsomely  as  possible,  and  the 
proceedings  are  duly  recorded  in  a  book  of  red 
leather,  clasped  in  gold  and  embellished  with  many 
318 


A   SMACK   OF   REPETITION.  3x9 

pictures,  which  the  Municipality  of.Forstadt  pre- 
sented to  Elsa  in  remembrance  of  the  auspicious 
event.  It  lies  now  under  a  class  case,  and,  I  under- 
stand, excites  much  interest  among  ladies  who  come 
to  see  my  house. 

Elsa  was  a  puzzle  no  longer ;  I  should  have  wel- 
comed more  complexity  of  feeling.  The  month 
which  had  passed  since  we  parted  had  brought  to 
her  many  reflections,  no  doubt,  and  as  a  presumable 
result  of  them  a  fixed  attitude  of  mind.  William 
Adolphus  would  have  said  (and  very  likely  did  say 
to  Victoria)  that  she  had  got  used  to  me;  but  this 
mode  of  putting  the  matter  suffers  from  my  brother- 
in-law's  bluntness.  She  had  not  defied  Clotho,  but 
neither  had  she  altogether  given  herself  up  to  Clotho. 
She  had  compromised  with  the  Formidable  Lady, 
and,  although  by  no  means  enraptured,  seemed  to 
be-  conscious  that  she  might  have  come  off  worse. 
What  was  distasteful  in  Clotho's  terms  Elsa  at- 
tempted to  reduce  to  insignificance  by  a  disciplined 
arrangement  of  her  thoughts  and  emotions.  Much 
can  be  done  if  one  will  be  firm  with  would-be  va- 
grants of  the  mind.  The  pleasant  may  be  given 
prominence ;  the  disagreeable  relegated  to  obscurity ; 
the  attractive  installed  in  the  living  apartments ;  the 
repellant  locked  in  a  distant  cellar,  whence  their  ill- 
conditioned  cries  are  audible  occasionally  only  and 
in  the  distance.  What  might  have  been  is  sternly 
transformed  from  a  beautiful  vision  into  a  revolting 
peril,  and  in  this  new  shape  is  invoked  to  applaud 
the  actual  and  vilify  what  is  impossible.  This  atti- 
tude of  mind  is  thought  so  commendable  as  to  have 
won  for  itself  in  popular  speech  the  name  of  philoso- 
phy— so  even  with  words  Clotho  works  her  will. 
Elsa,  then,  in  this  peculiar  sense  of  the  term  was 


320 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


philosophical  about  the  business.  She  was  balanced 
in  her  attitude,  and,  left  to  herself,  would  maintain 
equilibrium. 

"  She's  growing  fonder  and  fonder  of  you  every 
day,"  Cousin  Elizabeth  whispered  in  my  ear. 

"  I  hope,"  said  I,  with  a  reminiscence,  "  that  I 
am  not  absolutely  repulsive  to  her."  And  in  order 
not  to  puzzle  Cousin  Elizabeth  with  any  glimmer  of 
truth  I  smiled. 

"  My  dearest  Augustin  "  (that  she  seemed  to  say 
"  Struboff  "  was  a  childish  trick  of  my  imagination), 
"  what  an  idea !  "  ("  What  a  question,  my  dear  M. 
Struboff!") 

I  played  too  much,  perhaps,  with  my  parallel,  but 
I  was  not  its  slave.  I  knew  myself  to  be  unlike 
Struboff  (in  my  case  Coralie  scouted  the  idea  of  a 
fresh  slice  of  bread).  I  knew  Elsa  to  be  of  very  dif- 
ferent temperament  from  Coralie's.  These  variances 
did  not  invalidate  the  family  likeness ;  a  son  may  be 
very  like  his  father,  though  the  nose  of  one  turns  up 
and  the  other's  nose  turns  down.  We  were,  after 
making  all  allowances  for  superficial  differences — we 
were  both  careers,  Struboff  and  I.  I  need  none  to 
point  out  to  me  my  blunder ;  none  to  say  that  I  was 
really  fortunate  and  cried  for  the  moon.  It  is  ad- 
mitted. I  was  offered  a  charming  friendship ;  it  was 
not  enough.  I  could  give  a  tender  friendship ;  I 
knew  that  it  was  not  enough. 

And  there  was  that  other  thing  which  went  to 
my  heart,  that  possibility  which  must  ever  be  denied 
realization,  that  beginning  doomed  to  be  thwarted. 
As  we  were  talking  once  of  all  who  were  to  come 
on  the  great  day,  I  saw  suddenly  a  little  flush  on 
Elsa's  cheek.  She  did  not  look  away  or  stammer, 
or  make  any  other  obvious  concession  to  her  embar- 


A   SMACK   OF    REPETITION. 


321 


rassment,  but  the  blush  could  not  be  denied  access 
to  her  face  and  came  eloquent  with  its  hint. 

"  And  M.  de  Varvilliers — he  will  be  there,  I  sup- 
pose? "  she  asked. 

"  I  hope  so ;  I  have  given  directions  that  he  shall 
be  invited.  You  like  him,  Elsa?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  not  looking  at  me  now,  but 
straight  in  front  of  her,  as  though  he  stood  there  in 
his  easy  heart-stealing  grace.  And  for  an  instant 
longer  the  flush  flew  his  flag  on  her  cheek. 

But  Struboff  had  been  so  mad  as  to  fall  in  love 
with  Coralie,  and  to  desire  her  love  out  of  no  com- 
passion for  her  but  sheerly  for  itself.  Was  I  not 
spared  this  pang?  I  do  not  know  whether  my  state 
were  worse  or  better.  For  with  him,  even  in  direst 
misery,  there  would  be  love's  own  mad  hope,  that 
denial  of  impossibility,  that  dream  of  marvellous 
change  which  shoots  across  the  darkest  gloom  of 
passion.  Or  at  least  he  could  imagine  her  loving 
as  he  loved,  and  thereby  cheat  the  wretched  thing 
that  was.  I  could  not.  In  dreary  truth,  I  was  to- 
ward her  as  she  toward  me,  and  before  us  both  there 
stretched  a  lifetime.  If  an  added  sting  were  needed, 
I  found  it  in  a  perfectly  clear  consciousness  that  a 
great  many  people  would  have  been  absolutely  con- 
tent, and,  as  onlookers  of  our  case,  would  have 
wondered  what  all  the  trouble  was  about.  There 
are  those  who  from  a  fortunate  want  of  perception 
are  called  sensible;  just  as  Elsa  by  her  resolute 
evasion  of  truth  would  be  accorded  the  title  of  philo- 
sophical. 

Victoria  was  the  prophet  of  the  actual,  picking 
out  with  optimistic  eye  its  singular  abundance  of 
blessedness.  I  do  not  think  that  she  reminded  me 
that  Elsa  might  have  had  but  one  eye,  one  leg,  or 


322 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


a  crooked  back,  but  her  felicitations  ran  on  this  strain. 
Their  obvious  artificiality  gave  them  the  effect  of 
sympathy,  and  Victoria  would  always  sanction  this 
interpretation  by  a  kiss  on  departure.  But  she  had 
her  theory ;  it  was  that  Elsa  only  needed  to  be  wooed. 
The  "  only  "  amused  me,  but  even  with  that  point 
waived  I  questioned  her  position.  It  left  out  imag- 
ination, and  it  left  out  Varvilliers,  who  had  become 
imagination's  pet.  Nevertheless,  Victoria  spoke  out 
of  experience;  she  did  not  blush  at  declaring  her- 
self "  after  all  very  comfortable  "  with  William  Adol- 
phus.  Granted  the  argument's  sincerity,  its  force 
could  not  be  denied  with  honesty. 

"  We're  not  romantic,  and  never  have  been,  of 
course,"  she  conceded. 

"  My  dear  Victoria,  of  course  not,"  said  I,  laugh- 
ing openly. 

"  We  have  had  our  quarrels." 

"  The  quarrels  wouldn't  trouble  me  in  the  least." 

"  We  don't  expect  too  much  of  one  another." 

"  I  seem  to  be  listening  to  the  address  on  the 
wedding  day." 

"  You're  an  exasperating  creature !  "  and  with 
that  came  the  kiss. 

Victoria's  affection  was  always  grateful  to  me, 
but  in  the  absence  of  Wetter  and  Varvilliers,  neither 
of  whom  had  made  any  sign  as  yet,  I  was  bereft  of 
all  intellectual  sympathy.  I  had  looked  to  find  some 
in  the  Duke,  and  some,  as  I  believe,  there  was ;  but 
its  flow  was  checked  and  turned  by  what  I  must  call 
a  repressed  resentment.  His  wife's  blind  heartiness 
was  impossible  to  him,  and  he  read  with  a  clear 
eye  the  mind  of  a  loved  daughter.  With  him  also  I 
ranked  as  a  necessity ;  so  far  as  the  necessity  was  dis- 
tasteful to  Elsa,  it  was  unpalatable  to  him.  Beneath 


A   SMACK   OF    REPETITION.  323 

his  friendliness,  and  side  by  side  with  an  unhesitating 
acceptance  of  the  position,  there  lay  this  grudge,  not 
acknowledged,  bound  to  incur  instant  absurdity  as 
the  price  of  any  open  assertion  of  itself,  but  set  in 
his  mind  and  affecting  his  disposition  toward  me. 
He  was  not  so  foolish  as  to  blame  me ;  but  I  was 
to  him  the  occasion  of  certain  fears  and  shfinkings, 
possibly  of  some  qualms  as  to  his  own  part  in  the 
matter,  and  thus  I  became  a  less  desired  companion. 
There  was  something  between  us,  a  subject  always 
present,  never  to  be  mentioned.  As  a  result,  there 
came  constraint.  My  pride  took  alarm,  and  my 
polite  distance  answered  in  suitable  terms  to  his  reti- 
cent courtesy.  I  believe,  however,  that  we  found  one 
common  point  in  a  ludicrous  horror  of  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth's behaviour.  Had  she  assumed  the  air  she  wore, 
she  must  have  ranked  as  a  diplomatist;  having  suc- 
ceeded in  the  great  task  of  convincing  herself,  she 
stands  above  those  who  can  boast  only  of  deceiving 
others.  To  Cousin  Elizabeth  the  alliance  was  a  love 
match ;  had  she  possessed  the  other  qualities,  her 
self-persuasion  would  have  been  enough  to  enable 
her  to  found  a  religious  sect  and  believe  that  she  was 
sent  from  heaven  for  its  prophet. 

Amid  this  group  of  faces,  all  turned  toward  the 
same  object  but  with  expressions  subtly  various,  I 
spent  my  days,  studying  them  all,  and  finding  (here 
has  been  nature's  consolation  to  me)  relief  from 
my  own  thoughts  in  an  investigation  of  the  mind 
of  others.  The  portentous  pretence  on  which  we 
were  engaged  needed  perhaps  a  god  to  laugh  at  it, 
but  the  smaller  points  were  within  the  sphere  of 
human  ridicule;  with  them  there  was  no  danger  of 
amusement  suffering  a  sudden  death,  and  a  swift 
resurrection  in  the  changed  shape  of  indignation. 


324 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


There  was  already  much  to  laugh  at,  but  now  a 
new  occasion  came,  taking  its  rise  in  a  thing  which 
seemed  very  distinct,  and  appertaining  to  moods  and 
feelings  long  gone  by,  a  plaything  of  memory  des- 
tined (as  it  had  appeared)  to  play  no  more  part  in 
actual  life.  The  matter  was  simply  this  :  Count  Max 
von  Sempach  was  on  leave,  and  proposed  with  my 
permission  to  be  in  Forstadt  for  the  wedding  fes- 
tivities. 

Bederhof  had  heard  legendary  tales ;  his  manner 
was  dubious  and  solemn  as  he  submitted  the  Count's 
proposal  to  me ;  Princess  Heinrich's  carelessness  of 
reference  would  have  stirred  suspicion  in  the  most 
guileless  heart ;  William  Adolphus  broke  into  winks 
and  threatened  nudges  ;  I  invoked  my  dignity  just  in 
time.  Victoria  was  rather  excited,  rather  pleased, 
looking  forward  to  an  amusing  spectacle.  Evidently 
something  had  reached  Cousin  Elizabeth's  ears,  for 
she  overflowed  with  unspoken  assurances  that  the 
news  was  of  absolutely  no  importance,  that  she  took 
no  notice  of  boyish  follies,  and  did  not  for  a  moment 
doubt  my  whole-hearted  devotion  to  Elsa.  Elsa 
herself  betrayed  consciousness  only  by  not  catching 
my  eye  when  the  Sempachs'  coming  cropped  up  in 
conversation.  For  my  own  part  I  said  that  I  should 
be  very  glad  to  see  the  Count  and  the  Countess, 
and  that  they  had  a  clear  claim  to  their  invitation. 
My  mother's  manner  had  shown  that  she  felt  herself 
in  no  position  to  raise  objections;  Bederhof  took 
my  commands  with  resigned  deference.  I  was  aware 
that  his  wife  had  ceased  to  call  on  the  Countess 
some  time  before  Count  Max  went  Ambassador  to 
Paris. 

Max  had  done  his  work  very  well — his  appoint- 
ment has  been  quoted  as  an  instance  of  my  precocious 


A   SMACK   OF   REPETITION. 


325 


insight  into  character — and  his  work  did  not  appear 
to  have  done  him  any  harm.  When  he  called  on  me 
I  found  him  the  same  sincere  simple  fellow  that 
he  had  been  always.  By  consent  we  talked  of  pri- 
vate affairs,  rather  than  of  business.  He  told  me 
that  Tote  was  growing  into  a  tall  girl,  that  his  other 
children  also  shot  up,  but  (he  added  proudly)  his 
wife  did  not  look  a  day  older,  and  her  appearance 
had,  if  anything,  improved.  She  had  been  happy  at 
Paris,  he  said,  "  but,  to  be  sure,  she'd  be  happy  any- 
where with  the  children  and  her  home."  The  mod- 
esty of  the  last  words  did  not  conceal  his  joyous  con- 
fidence. I  felt  very  kindly  toward  him. 

"  Really  you're  an  encouragement  to  me  at  this 
moment,"  I  said.  "  You  must  take  me  to  see  the 
Countess." 

"  She  will  be  most  honoured,  sire." 

"  I'd  much  rather  she'd  be  a  little  pleased." 

He  laughed  in  evident  gratification,  assuring  me 
that  she  would  be  very  pleased.  He  answered  for 
her  emotions  in  the  true  style  of  the  blessed  partner ; 
that  is  an  incident  of  matrimony  which  I  am  content 
to  have  escaped.  I  doubted  very  much  whether  she 
were  so  eager  for  the  renewal  of  my  acquaintance 
as  he  declared.  I  recollected  the  doubts  and  fears 
that  had  beset  her  vision  of  that  event  long  ago. 
But  my  part  was  plain — to  go,  and  to  go  speedily. 

''  To  the  Countess'  ? "  exclaimed  Victoria,  to 
whom  I  mentioned  casually  my  plans  for  the  after- 
noon. "  You're  in  a  great  hurry,  Augustin." 

"  It's  no  sign  of  hurry  to  go  to  a  place  at  the 
right  time,"  said  I,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  call  it  quite  proper." 

"  I  go  because  it  is  proper." 

"  If  you  flirt  with  her  again " 


326  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

"  My  dear  Victoria,  what  things  you  suggest !  " 

Victoria  returned  to  her  point. 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  rush  off  there 
all  in  a  minute,"  she  persisted. 

Nevertheless  I  went,  paying  the  tribute  of  a  laugh 
to  the  picture  of  Victoria  flying  with  the  news  to 
Princess  Heinrich.  But  the  Princess'  eye  could  tell 
a  real  danger  from  an  imaginary  one ;  she  would  not 
mind  my  seeing  the  Countess  now. 

I  went  quite  privately,  without  notice,  and  was 
not  expected.  Thus  it  happened  that  I  was  ushered 
into  the  drawing-room  when  the  Countess  was  not 
there  to  receive  me.  There  I  found  Tote  undeniably 
long-legged  and  regrettably  shy.  The  world  had 
begun  to  set  its  mark  on  her,  and  she  had  discovered 
that  she  did  not  know  how  to  behave  to  me.  I  was 
sorry  not  to  be  pleasant  company  for  Tote ;  but,  per- 
ceiving the  fact  too  plainly  to  resist  it  I  sent  her  off 
to  hasten  her  mother.  She  had  not  been  gone  a 
moment  before  the  Countess  came  in  hurriedly  with 
apologies  on  her  lips. 

Not  a  day  older!  O  my  dear  Max!  Shall  we 
pray  for  this  blindness,  or  shall  we  not?  She  was 
older  than  she  had  been,  older  than  by  now  she 
should  be.  Yet  her  charm  hung  round  her  like  a 
fine  stuff  that  defies  time,  and  a  gentle  kindness 
graced  her  manner.  We  began  to  talk  about  any- 
thing and  nothing.  She  showed  fretful  dread  of  a 
pause ;  when  she  spoke  she  did  not  look  me  in  the 
face.  I  could  not  avoid  the  idea  that  she  did  not 
want  me,  and  would  gladly  see  me  take  my  leave. 
But  such  a  feeling  was,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  inhuman 
— a  falseness  to  our  true  selves,  born  of  some  conven- 
tion, or  of  a  scruple  overstrained,  or  of  a  fear  not 
warranted. 


A   SMACK   OF    REPETITION.  327 

"  Have  you  seen  Elsa  ?  "  I  asked  presently,  and 
perhaps  rather  abruptly. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  was  presented  to  her.  She 
was  very  sweet  and  kind  to  me." 

"  She's  that  to  me  too,"  I  said,  rising  and  stand- 
ing by  her  chair. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  looked  up  at  me; 
I  saw  emotion  in  her  eyes. 

"You'll  be  happy  with  her?"  she  asked. 

"  If  she  isn't  very  unhappy,  I  daresay  I 
shan't  be." 

"  Ah !  "  she  said  with  a  sort  of  despairing  sigh. 

"  But  I  don't  suppose  I  should  make  anybody 
particularly  happy." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried  in  low-voiced  impetuosity. 

"  Yes,  if "  She  stopped.  Fear  was  in  her  eyes 

now,  and  she  scanned  my  face  with  a  close  jealous 
intensity.  I  knew  what  her  fear  was,  her  own  ex- 
pression of  it  echoed  back  across  the  years.  She 
feared  that  she  had  given  me  occasion  to  laugh  at 
her.  I  bent  down,  took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it 
lightly. 

"  Perhaps,  had  all  the  world  been  different,"  said 
I,  with  a  smile. 

"  I'm  terribly  changed  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  terribly,  and  not  much.  How  has  it 
been  with  you  ?  " 

Her  nervousness  seemed  to  be  passing  off ;  she 
answered  me  in  a  sincere  simplicity  that  would  nei- 
ther exaggerate  nor  hide. 

"  All  that  is  good,  short  of  the  best,"  she  said. 
"And  with  you?" 

"  Shall  I  say  all  that  is  bad,  short  of  the  worst  ?  " 

"  We  shouldn't  mean  very  different  things." 

"  No ;  not  very.    I've  done  many  foolish  things." 


328  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

"  Have  you  ?  They  all  say  that  you  fill  your  place 
well." 

"  I  have  paid  high  to  do  it." 

"  What  you  thought  high  when  you  paid,"  she 
said,  smiling  sadly. 

I  would  not  do  her  the  wrong  of  any  pretence; 
she  was  entitled  to  my  honesty. 

"  I  still  think  it  high,"  I  said,  "  but  not  too  high." 

"  Nothing  is  too  high  ?  " 

"  But  others  must  help  to  pay  my  score.  You 
know  that." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it." 

"  And  this  girl  will  know  it." 

"  She  wouldn't  have  it  otherwise." 

"  I  know,  I  know,  I  know.  She  would  not.  It's 
strange  to  have  you  here  now." 

"  Max  would  come.  I  didn't  wish  it.  Yet — 
She  smiled  for  a  moment  and  added :  "  Yet  in  a  way 
I  did  wish  it.  I  was  drawn  here.  It  seemed  to  con- 
cern me.  Don't  laugh.  It  seemed  to  be  part  of  my 
story,  too ;  I  felt  that  I  must  be  there  to  hear  it. 
Are  you  laughing  ?  " 

"  I've  never  laughed." 

"  You're  good  and  kind  and  generous.  No,  I 
think  you  haven't.  I'm  glad  of  it,  because 

"Yes?    Why?" 

"  Because  even  now  I  can't,"  she  whispered. 
"  No,  don't  think  I  mean — I  mean  a  thing  which 
would  oblige  you  to  laugh  now.  It's  all  over,  all 
over.  But  that  it  should  have  been,  Augustin  ? " 
My  name  slipped  from  unconscious  lips.  :(  That  it 
should  have  been  isn't  bad  to  me ;  it's  good.  That's 
wicked?  I  .can't  help  it.  It's  the  thing — the  thing 
of  my  life.  I've  no  place  like  yours.  I've  nothing 
to  make  it  come  second.  Ah,  I'm  forgetting  again 


A   SMACK   OF    REPETITION.  329 

how  old  I  am.  How  you  always  make  me  forget  it ! 
I  mustn't  talk  like  this." 

"  We  shall  never,  I  suppose,  talk  like  this  again. 
You  go  back  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  Yes,  soon.     I'm  glad." 

"  But  it's  not  hard  to  you  now?  " 

She  seemed  to  reflect,  as  though  she  were  anx- 
ious to  give  me  an  answer  accurately  true. 

"  Not  very  hard  now,"  she  said  at  last,  looking 
full  at  me.  "  Not  very  hard,  but  very  constant,  al- 
ways with  me.  I  love  them  all,  all  my  folk.  But  it's 
always  there." 

"  You  mean — What  do  you  mean  ?  The  thought 
of  me?" 

"  Yes,  or  the  thought  that  somehow  I  have  just 
missed.  I'm  not  miserable.  And  Ilike  to  dream — 
to  be  gorgeous,  splendid,  wicked  in  dreams."  She 
gave  a  laugh  and  pressed  my  hand  for  a  moment. 
"  Tote  grows  pretty,"  she  said.  "  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"  Tote  was  unhappy  with  me,  and  I  let  her  go. 
Yes,  she's  pretty ;  she  won't  be  like  you,  though." 

"  I'll  appeal  to  you  again  in  five,  in  ten  years," 
said  she,  smiling,  pleased  with  my  covert  praise. 
"  Oh,  it's  pleasant  to  see  you  again,"  she  went  on 
a  moment  later.  "  I'm  a  bad  penitent.  I  wish  I 
could  be  with  you  always.  No,  I  am  not  dreaming 
now.  I  mean,  just  in  Forstadt  and  seeing  you." 

"  A  moment  ago  you  were  glad  to  go  back  to 
Paris." 

"  Ah,  you  assume  more  ignorance  of  us  than  you 
have.  Mayn't  I  be  glad  of  one  thing  and  wish  an- 
other?" 

"  True  ;  and  men  can  do  that  too." 

I  felt  the  old  charm  of  the  quick  word  coming 


330  THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 

from  the  beautiful  lips,  the  twofold  appeal.  Though 
passion  was  gone,  pleasure  in  her  remained ;  my  love 
was  dead.  As  I  sat  there  I  wished  it  alive  again ;  I 
longed  to  be  back  in  the  storm  of  it,  even  though  I 
must  battle  the  storm  again. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  me,  "  I 
have  my  share  in  you.  You  can't  think  of  your  life 
without  thinking  of  me.  I'm  something  to  you.  I'm 
one  among  the  many  foolish  things — You  don't  hate 
the  foolish  things  ?  " 

"  On  my  soul,  I  believe  not  one  of  them ;  and  if 
you're  one,  I  love  one  of  them." 

"  I  like  you  to  say  that." 

A  long  silence  fell  on  us.  The  thing  had  not 
come  in  either  of  the  fashions  in  which  I  had  pic- 
tured it,  neither  in  weariness  nor  in  excitement.  It 
came  full  with  emotions,  but  emotions  that  were  sub- 
dued shadows  of  themselves,  of  a  mournful  sweet- 
ness, bewailing  their  lost  strength,  yet  shrinking 
from  remembrance  of  it.  Would  we  have  gone  back 
if  we  could  ?  Now  I  could  not  answer  the  question. 
Yet  we  could  weep,  because  to  go  back  was  impos- 
sible. But  it  was  with  a  slight  laugh  that  at  last  I 
rose  to  my  feet  to  say  good-bye. 

"  It's  like  you  always  to  laugh  at  the  end,"  she 
said,  a  little  in  reproach,  but  more,  I  think,  in  the 
pleasure  of  recognising  what  was  part  of  her  idea 
of  me.  "  You  used  often  to  do  it,  even  when  you 
were — even  before.  You  remember  the  first  time  of 
all — when  we  smiled  at  one  another  behind  your 
mother's  back?  That  oldest  memory  comforts  me. 
Do  you  know  wrhy?  I  was  never  so  many  centuries 
older  than  you  again.  I'm  not  so  many  even  now. 
You  look  old,  I  think,  and  seem  old ;  if  we're  nearer 
together,  it's  your  fault,  not  my  merit.  Well,  you 


A   SMACK   OF    REPETITION.  331 

must  go.  Ah,  how  you  fill  time !  How  you  could 
have  filled  a  woman's  life !  " 

"Could  have?    Your  mood  is  right." 

"  Surely  she'll  be  happy  with  you  ?  If  you  could 
love  her?" 

"  Not  even  then.     I'm  not  to  her  measure." 

"  Are  you  unhappy?  " 

"  It's  better  than  the  worst,  a  great  deal  better. 
Good-bye." 

I  pressed  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  With  a  sud- 
den seeming  formality  she  curtseyed  and  kissed 
mine. 

"  I  don't  forget  what  you  are,"  she  said,  "  because 
I  have  fancied  you  as  something  besides.  Good-bye, 
sire.  Good-bye,  Augustin." 

"  There's  a  name  wanting." 

"  Ah,  to  Ccesar  I  said  good-bye  five  years  ago." 
The  tears  were  in  her  eyes  as  I  turned  away  and 
left  her. 

I  had  a  fancy  to  walk  back  alone,  as  I  had  walked 
alone  from  her  house  on  the  day  when  I  cut  the  bond 
between  us  that  same  five  years  ago.  Having  dis- 
missed my  carriage,  I  set  out  in  the  cool  of  the 
autumn  evening  as  dusk  had  just  fallen,  and  took 
my  way  through  the  decorated  streets.  Only  three 
days  more  lay  between  the  decorations  and  the  oc- 
casion they  were  meant  to  grace.  There  was  a  hum 
of  gaiety  through  all  the  town ;  they  had  begun  their 
holiday-making,  and  the  shops  did  splendid  trade. 
They  in  Forstadt  would  have  liked  to  marry  me 
every  year.  Why  not  ?  I  was  to  them  a  sign,  a  sym- 
bol, something  they  saw  and  spoke  of,  but  not  a 
man.  I  reviewed  the  troops  every  year.  Why  should 
I  not  be  married  every  year?  It  would  be  but  the 
smallest  extension  of  my  functions,  and  all  on  the 


332  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

lines  of  logic.  I  could  imagine  Princess  Heinrich 
according  amplest  approval  to  the  scheme. 

Suddenly,  as  I  passed  in  meditation  through  a 
quiet  street,  a  hand  was  laid  on  my  shoulder.  I  knew 
only  one  man  who  would  stop  me  in  that  way.  Was 
he  here  again,  risen  again,  in  Forstadt  again,  for 
work,  or  mirth,  or  mischief?  He  came  in  fitting  with 
the  visit  I  had  paid.  I  turned  and  found  his  odd, 
wry  smile  on  me,  the  knit  brows  and  twinkling 
eyes.  He  lifted  his  hat  and  tossed  back  the  iron- 
gray  hair. 

"  I  am  come  to  the  wedding,  sire,"  said  he, 
bowing. 

"  It  would  be  incomplete  without  you,  Wetter." 

"  And  for  another  thing — for  a  treat,  for  a  spec- 
tacle. They've  written  an  epithalamium,  haven't 
they?" 

"  Yes,  some  fool,  according  to  his  folly." 

"  It  is  to  be  sung  at  the  opera  the  night  before  ? 
At  the  gala  performance !  " 

"  You're  as  well  up  in  the  arrangements  as  Beder- 
hof  himself." 

"  I  have  cause.     Whence  come  you,  sire?" 

"  From  paying  a  visit  to  the  Countess  von  Sem- 
pach." 

He  burst  into  a  laugh,  but  the  look  in  his  eyes 
forbade  me  to  be  offended. 

"  That's  very  whimsical  too,"  he  observed. 
"  There's  a  smack  of  repetition  about  this.  Is  fate 
hard-up  for  new  effects  ?  " 

"  There's  variety  enough  here  for  me.  There 
were  no  decorations  in  the  streets  when  I  left  her 
before." 

"  True,  true ;  and — for  I  must  return  to  my  tid- 
ings— I  bring  you  something  new."  He  paused  and 


A   SMACK   OF   REPETITION.  333 

enjoyed  his  smile  at  me.  "  Who  sings  the  marriage 
song?  "  he  asked. 

"  Heavens,  man,  I  don't  know !  I'm  not  the  man- 
ager. What  is  it  to  me  who  sings  the  song  ?  " 

"  You  would  like  it  sung  in  tune?  " 

"  Oh,  unquestionably." 

"  Ah,  well,  she  sings  in  tune,"  he  said,  nodding 
his  head  with  an  air  of  satisfaction.  "  She  is  not 
emotional,  but  she  sings  in  tune." 

"  Does  she,  Wetter?    Who  is  she?  " 

He  stood  looking  at  me  for  a  moment,  then  broke 
into  another  laugh.  I  caught  him  by  the  arm ;  now 
I  laughed  myself. 

"No,  no?"  I  cried.  "Fate  doesn't  joke,  Wet- 
ter?" 

"  Fate  jokes,"  said  he.  "  It  is  Coralie  who  will 
sing  your  song.  To-morrow  they  reach  here,  she 
and  Struboff.  Yes,  sire,  Coralie  is  to  sing  your 
song." 

We  stood  looking  at  one  another ;  we  both  were 
laughing.  "  It's  a  great  chance  in  her  career,"  he 
said. 

"  It's  rather  a  curious  chance  in  mine,"  said  I. 

"  She  sings  it,  she  sings  it,"  he  cried,  and  with 
a  last  laugh  turned  and  fairly  ran  away  down  the 
street,  like  a  mischievous  boy  who  has  thrown  his 
squib  and  flies  from  the  scene  in  mirthful  fear. 

When  Fortune  jested  she  found  in  him  quick- 
witted loving  audience. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE    SECRET    OF    THE    COUNTESS. 

PRINCESS  HEINRICH  held  a  reception  of  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  those  in  Forstadt  who  were  re- 
ceivable. So  comprehensive  was  the  party  that  to 
be  included  conveyed  no  compliment,  to  be  left  out 
meant  a  slap  in  the  face.  But  the  scene  was  gor- 
geous, and  the  Princess  presided  over  it  with  fitting 
dignity.  Elsa  and  I  stood  by  her  for  a  while,  all  in 
our  buckram,  living  monuments  of  bliss  and  exalted- 
ness.  It  was  like  a  prolonged  interview  with  the 
photographer.  Then  I  slipped  away  and  paid  marked 
and  honorific  courtesy  to  Bederhof's  wife  and  Beder- 
hof's  daughters,  ftall  girls,  not  over-quick  to  be  mar- 
ried, somehow  quite  inevitable  if  one  considered 
Bederhof  himself.  Rising  from  my  plunge,  I  looked 
round  for  Elsa.  She  had  left  my  mother  and  taken 
a  seat  in  a  recess  by  the  window.  There  she  sat,  look- 
ing, poor  soul,  rather  weary,  speaking  now  and  then 
to  those  who,  in  passing  by,  paused  to  make  their 
respects  and  compliments  to  her.  She  wore  my  dia- 
monds ;  all  eyes  were  for  her ;  the  streets  were  splen- 
didly decorated.  Was  she  content?  With  all  my 
heart  I  hoped  that  she  was. 

People  came  and  buzzed  about  me,  and  I  buzzed 
back  to  them.  I  had  learned  to  buzz,  I  believe,  with 
some  grace  and  facility,  certainly  with  an  almost  en- 
334 


THE   SECRET    OF   THE   COUNTESS.  335 

tire  detachment  of  my  inner  mind ;  it  would  be  intol- 
erable for  the  real  man  to  be  engrossed  in  such  per- 
formances. Looking  over  the  head  of  the  President 
of  the  Court  of  Appeal  (he  was  much  shorter  than 
his  speeches),  I  saw  Elsa  suddenly  lean  forward  and 
sign  with  her  fan  to  a  lady  who  passed  by.  The 
lady  stopped ;  she  sat  down  by  Elsa ;  they  entered 
into  conversation.  For  a  while  I  went  on  buzzing 
and  being  buzzed  to,  but  presently  curiosity  con- 
quered me. 

"  In  the  pleasure  of  your  conversation  I  mustn't 
forget  what  is  my  first  duty  just  now,  gentlemen," 
I  said  with  a  smile. 

They  dissolved  from  in  front  of  me  with  discreet 
smiles.  I  sauntered  toward  the  recess  where  Elsa 
sat.  Glancing  at  Princess  Heinrich,  I  saw  her  watch- 
ing all  that  went  forward,  but  she  was  hemmed  in  by 
eminent  persons.  And  why  should  she  interpose,  if 
Elsa  desired  to  talk  to  the  Countess  von  Sempach  ? 

I  leaned  over  the  arm  of  my  betrothed's  chair. 
They  were  talking  of  common  affairs.  From  where 
I  was  I  could  not  see  Elsa's  face,  so  I  moved  and 
stood  leaning  on  a  third  chair  between  them.  The 
Countess  was  gay  and  brilliant ;  kind  also,  with  a  ten- 
derness that  seemed  to  throw  out  feelers  for  friend- 
ship. To  me  she  spoke  only  when  I  addressed  her 
directly;  her  attention  was  all  for  Elsa.  In  Elsa's 
eyes,  not  skilled  to  conceal  her  heart,  there  was,  over- 
powering all  other  expression,  a  curiosity,  a  study 
of  something  that  interested  and  puzzled  her,  a  de- 
sire to  understand  the  woman  who  talked  to  her. 
For  Elsa  had  heard  something ;  not  all,  but  some- 
thing. She  was  not  hostile  or  disturbed ;  she  was 
gracious  and  eager  to  please  ;  but  she  was  inquiring 
and  searching.  At  her  heart's  bidding  her  wits  were 


336  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

on  the  move.  I  knew  the  maze  that  they  explored. 
She  was  asking  for  the  Countess'  secret.  But  which 
secret?  For  to  her  it  might  well  seem  that  there 
were  two.  Rumour  said  that  I  had  loved  the  Count- 
ess. It  would  be  in  the  way  of  the  natural  woman 
for  Elsa  to  desire  to  find  out  why,  the  trick  of  the 
charm  that  a  predecessor  (let  the  word  pass)  had 
wielded.  But  rumour  said  also  that  the  Countess 
had  loved  me.  Was  this  the  deeper  harder  secret 
that  Elsa  sought  to  probe,  this  the  puzzle  to  which 
she  asked  an  answer?  Perhaps,  could  she  find  an 
answer  that  satisfied,  there  would  be  new  heaven  and 
new  earth  for  her.  Here  seemed  to  me  the  truth,  the 
reason  of  the  longing  question  in  her  eyes.  Jealousy 
could  not  inspire  that;  certainly  not  a  jealousy  of 
what  was  long  gone  by,  of  a  woman  who  to  Elsa's 
fresh  girlhood  must  be  faded  and  almost  sunk  to 
middle  age.  "  How  did  you  contrive  to  love  him  ?  " 
That  was  Elsa's  question,  asked  beneath  my  under- 
standing gaze. 

There  was  a  little  stir  by  the  door,  and  a  man 
came  through  the  group  that  loitered  round  it,  hastily 
shaking  hands  here,  nodding  there,  as  he  steered  his 
course  toward  Princess  Heinrich.  I  knew  that  Var- 
villiers  would  come  to  the  wedding,  but  had  not  been 
aware  that  he  was  already  in  Forstadt.  My  compan- 
ions did  not  notice  him,  but  I  watched  his  interview 
with  my  mother.  Even  she  unbent  to  him,  disarmed 
by  a  courtesy  that  overcame  the  protest  of  her  judg- 
ment; she  detained  him  in  conversation  nearly  ten 
minutes,  and  then  pointed  to  where  we  were,  direct- 
ing him  to  join  us. 

"  Ah,  here  comes  Varvilliers,"  said  I.  "  I'm  de- 
lighted to  have  him  back.  You've  met  him,  Count- 
ess?" 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   COUNTESS. 


337 


"  Oh,  yes,  sire,  in  Paris,"  she  answered. 

For  a  few  moments  I  kept  my  eyes  from  Elsa's 
face  and  looked  toward  Varvilliers,  smiling  and 
beckoning.  When  I  turned  toward  her  she  was 
bright  and  composed.  He  joined  us,  and  she  wel- 
comed him  with  cordiality.  He  launched  on  an  ac- 
count of  his  doings ;  then  came  to  our  affairs,  com- 
miserating us  on  the  trial  of  our  ceremonies.  For  a 
while  we  talked  all  to  all ;  then  I  began  to  tell  the 
Countess  a  little  story.  Varvilliers  and  Elsa  fell  into 
a  conversation  apart.  She  had  made  him  sit  by  her. 
I  bent  down  over  my  chair  back,  to  converse  more 
easily  with  my  Countess.  All  this  was  right  enough, 
unless  the  talk  were  to  continue  general. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  we  went  on  thus ;  some 
time  I  know  it  was.  At  last  it  chanced  that  the  Count- 
ess made  no  answer  to  what  I  said,  and  leaned  back 
in  her  chair  with  a  thoughtful  smile.  I  sighed,  raised 
my  head,  and  looked  across  the  room.  I  heard  the 
other  two  in  animated  talk  and  their  gay  laughter ; 
for  the  moment  my  mind  was  not  on  them.  Sud- 
denly Wetter  passed  in  front  of  me ;  he  had  once 
been  President  of  the  Chamber,  and  Princess  Hein- 
rich  knew  her  duty.  He  was  with  William  Adolphus, 
who  seemed  in  extremely  good  spirits.  Wetter 
paused  opposite  to  me  and  bowed.  I  returned  his 
salutation,  but  did  not  invite  him  to  join  us  ;  I  hoped 
to  speak  to  him  later.  Thus  it  was  for  a  bare  in- 
stant that  he  halted.  But  what  matters  time?  Its 
only  true  measure  lies  in  what  a  man  does  in  it. 
Wetter's  momentary  halt  was  long  enough  for  one 
of  those  glances  of  his  to  play  over  the  group  we 
made.  From  face  to  face  it  ran,  a  change  of  ex- 
pression marking  every  stage.  It  rested  at  last  on 
me.  I  turned  my  head  sharply  toward  Elsa ;  her 


333 


THE    KING'S    MIRROR. 


cheek  was  flushed  ;  her  eyes  glistened  ;  her  body  was 
bent  forward  in  an  eagerness  of  attention,  as  though 
she  would  not  lose  a  word.  Varvilliers  was  given 
over  to  the  spirit  of  his  talk,  but  he  watched  the 
sparks  that  he  struck  from  her  eyes.  I  glanced  again 
at  Wetter;  William  Adolphus  had  seized  his  arm 
and  urged  him  forward.  For  a  second  still  he  stood ; 
he  tossed  his  hair  back,  laughed,  and  turned  away. 
Why  should  he  stay  ?  He  had  said  all  that  the  situa- 
tion suggested  to  him,  and  said  it  with  his  own  merci- 
less lucidity. 

I  echoed  his  laugh.  Mine  was  an  interruption  to 
their  talk.  Elsa  started  and  looked  up ;  Varvilliers' 
face  turned  to  me.  He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment, 
then  a  strange  and  most  unusual  air  of  embarrass- 
ment spread  over  him.  The  Countess  did  not  speak, 
and  her  eyes  were  downcast.  Varvilliers  was  himself 
again  directly ;  he  began  to  speak  of  indifferent  mat- 
ters ;  he  was  not  so  awkward  as  to  let  this  incident 
be  the  occasion  of  his  leave-taking.  A  minute  or 
two  passed.  I  looked  at  him  and  held  out  my  hand. 
At  the  same  instant  the  Countess  asked  a  signal 
from  Elsa,  and  it  was  given.  We  all  stood  together 
for  a  moment,  then  they  left  us,  she  accepting  his  arm 
to  cross  the  room.  Elsa  sat  down  again  and  did  not 
speak.  I  found  no  words  either,  .but  leaned  again 
over  my  chair,  regarding  the  scene  in  absent  moodi- 
ness.  I  was  thinking  how  odd  a  thing  it  was,  and 
how  perfect,  that  absolute  contentment  of  the  one 
with  the  other,  that  mutual  sufficiency,  that  fitting 
in  of  each  to  each,  that  ultimate  oneness  of  soul  which 
is  the  block  from  which  is  hewn  love's  image.  And 
the  block  is  there,  though  by  fate's  caprice  it  lie  un- 
shaped.  The  thing  had  been  between  the  Countess 
and  myself;  its  virtue  had  availed  to  abolish  differ- 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   COUNTESS. 


339 


ence  of  years,  to  rout  absurdity,  to  threaten  the 
strongest  resolution  of  my  mind.  It  was  between 
Elsa  and  Varvilliers.  In  none  other  had  I  found  it 
for  myself ;  in  none  other  would  Elsa  find  it.  It  was 
not  for  her  in  me.  Then  in  vain  had  been  the  ques- 
tioning of  her  eyes,  in  vain  the  eager  longing  of  her 
parted  lips.  She  had  not  ears  to  hear  the  secret  of 
the  Countess.  At  this  moment  I  forgot  again  that 
my,  or  even  her,  happiness  was  not  a  relevant  con- 
sideration in  forming  a  judgment  of  the  universe. 
It  is,  in  fact,  a  difficult  thing  to  remember.  My  pride 
was  ablaze  with  hatred  of  being  taken  because  I 
could  not  be  refused.  I  was  carried  away  by  a  sud- 
den impulse.  I  threw  myself  into  the  chair  by  Elsa, 
saying : 

"  How  it  would  surprise  and  scatter  all  these  good 
people  if  you  suddenly  announced  that  you'd  changed 
your  mind,  Elsa!  What  a  rout!  what  a  scurry! 
What  a  putting  out  of  lights,  and  a  pulling  down  of 
poles,  and  a  furling  up  of  flags,  and  a  countermanding 
of  orders  to  the  butcher  and  the  baker !  Good  heav- 
ens !  Think  of  my  mother's  face,  or,  indeed,  of  your 
mother's  face!  Think  of  Bederhof's  face,  of  every- 
body's face !  "  And  I  fell  to  laughing. 

Elsa  also  laughed,  but  with  a  nervous  discomfort. 
Her  glance  at  me  was  short ;  her  eyes  dropped  again. 

"What  made  you  think  of  such  a  thing?"  she 
asked  in  a  hesitating  tone. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  I.  Then  I  turned  and  asked, 
"  Have  you  never  thought  of  it  ?  " 

"  Never,"  she  said.  "  Indeed,  never.  How 
could  I  ?  " 

It  was  impossible  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  her 
disclaimer.  She  seemed  really  shocked  and  amazed 
at  the  notion. 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  And  now !  To  do  it  now !  When  everything  is 
ready !  "  She  gave  a  pretty  little  gasp.  "  And  go 
back  with  mother  to  Bartenstein!"  she  went  on, 
shaking  her  head  in  horror.  "  How  could  you  imag- 
ine it?  Fancy  Bartenstein  again  !  " 

Evidently  I  was  preferable  to  Bartenstein  again, 
to  the  narrow  humdrum  life  there.  No  poles,  no 
flags,  no  illuminations,  no  cheers,  no  dignity !  Dia- 
monds even  scarce  and  rare!  I  tried  to  take  heart. 
It  was  something  to  be  better  than  Bartenstein 
again. 

"And  what  would  they  think  of  me?  Oh,  it's 
too  absurd !  But  of  course  you  were  joking?  " 

"  Oh,  not  more  than  usual,  Elsa.  You  might 
have  found  me  even  more  tiresome  than  Barten- 
stein." 

"  Nonsense  !  It  would  always  be  better  here  than 
at  Bartenstein/' 

Clearly  there  was  no  question  in  her  mind  on  this 
point.  Forstadt  and  I — let  me  share,  since  I  may  not 
engross  the  credit — were  much  better  than  going 
back  to  Bartenstein. 

She  was  looking  at  me  with  an  uneasy,  almost 
suspicious  air. 

"  What  made  you  ask  that  question  ?  "  she  said 
abruptly. 

I  looked  round  the  room.  Among  the  many 
groups  in  talk  there  were  faces  turned  toward  us, 
regarding  us  with  a  discreet  good-humoured  amuse- 
ment. The  King  forgot  his  duties  and  talked  with  his 
lady-love.  Every  moment  buttressed  the  reputation 
of  our  love  match.  Let  it  be  so ;  it  was  best.  Yet 
the  sham  was  curiously  unpleasant  to  me. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  me  that  question,  Augustin  ? 
You  had  a  reason  ?  " 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   COUNTESS.  341 

"  No,  none ;  except  that  in  forty-eight  hours  it 
will  be  too  late  to  ask  it." 

She  leaned  toward  me  in  agitated  pleading. 

"  I  do  love  you,  Augustin.  I  love  nobody  so 
much  as  you — you  and  father." 

I  and  father !  Poor  girl,  how  she  admitted  while 
she  thought  to  deny !  But  I  was  full  of  a  pity  and  a 
tenderness  for  her,  and  forgot  my  own  pride. 

"  You're  so  good  to  me ;  and  there's  no  reason 
why  you  should  like  me." 

"  Like  ?  "  said  I.  "  A  gentleman  must  pretend 
sometimes,  or  so  it's  thought." 

"  Yes.  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Pleased  coquetry 
gleamed  for  a  moment  in  her  eyes.  "  Do  you  mean — 
love  me?" 

"It  is  impossible,  is  it?"  I  asked,  and  I  looked 
into  her  eyes  as  though  I  desired  her  love.  Well,  I 
did,  that  she  might  have  peace. 

She  blushed,  and  suddenly,  as  it  were  by  an 
uncontrollable  immediate  impulse,  glanced  round. 
Whose  face  did  she  seek?  Was  it  not  his  who  last 
had  looked  at  her  in  that  fashion?  He  was  not  in 
sight.  Her  gaze  fell  downward.  Ah,  that  you  had 
been  a  better  diplomatist,  Elsa.  For  though  a  man 
may  know  the  truth,  he  loves  sometimes  one  who 
will  deny  it  to  him  pleasantly.  He  gains  thereby  a 
respite  and  an  intermission,  the  convict's  repose  be- 
tween his  turns  on  the  treadmill  or  the  hour's  flouting 
of  hard  life  that  good  wine  brings.  But  it  was  impos- 
sible to  rear  on  stable  foundations  a  Pleasure  House 
of  Pretence.  With  every  honest  revelation  of  her 
heart  Elsa  shattered  it.  I  can  not  blame  her.  I  my- 
self was  at  my  analytic  undermining. 

"  You'll  go  on  then?  "  I  asked,  with  a  laugh. 

She  laughed  for  answer.    The  question  seemed  to 


342 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


her  to  need  no  answer.  What,  would  she  go  back 
to  Bartenstein — to  insignificance,  to  dulness,  and  to 
tutelage?  Surely  not! 

"  But  I'm  not  very  like  the  grenadier,"  I  said. 

She  understood  me  and  flushed,  relapsing  into 
uneasiness.  I  saw  that  I  had  touched  some  chord 
in  her,  and  I  would  willingly  have  had  my  words 
unsaid.  Presently  she  turned  to  me,  and  forgetting 
the  gazers  round  held  out  her  hands  to  mine.  Her 
eyes  seemed  dim. 

"  I'll  try — I'll  try  to  make  you  happy,"  she  said. 

And  she  said  well.  Letting  all  think  what  they 
would,  I  rose  to  my  feet  and  bowed  low  over  the 
hand  that  I  kissed.  Then  I  gave  her  my  arm,  and 
walked  with  her  through  the  lane  that  they  made 
for  us.  Surely  we  pretended  well,  for  somehow, 
from  somewhere,  a  cheer  arose,  and  they  cheered  us 
as  we  walked  through.  Elsa's  face  was  in  an  instant 
bright  again.  She  pressed  my  arm  in  a  spasm  of 
pleasure.  We  proceeded  in  triumph  to  where  Prin- 
cess Heinrich  sat;  away  behind  her  in  the  fore- 
most row  of  a  group  of  men  stood  Wetter — Wetter 
leading  the  cheers,  waving  his  handkerchief,  grinning 
in  charmingly  diabolical  fashion.  The  suitability  of 
Princess  Heinrich's  reception  of  us  I  must  leave  to 
be  imagined ;  it  was  among  her  triumphs. 

I  fell  at  once  into  the  clutches  of  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth, my  regard  for  whom  was  tempered  by  a  prefer- 
ence for  more  restraint  in  the  display  of  emotion. 

"  My  dearest  boy,"  she  said,  pulling  me  into  a 
seat  by  her,  "  I  saw  you.  It  makes  me  so  happy.*' 

A  thing,  without  being  exactly  good  in  itself,  may 
of  course  have  incidental  .id  antages. 

"  It  was  sure  to  happen.  You  were  made  for  one 
another.  Dear  Elsa  is  young  and  shy,  and — and  she 


I'll  try— I'll  try  to  make  you  happy." 


THE   SECRET   OF    THE   COUNTESS.  343 

didn't  quite  understand."  Cousin  Elizabeth  looked 
almost  sly.  "  But  now  the  weight  is  quite  off  my 
mind.  Because  Elsa  doesn't  change." 

"Doesn't  she?"  I  asked. 

"  No,  she's  constancy  itself.  Once  she  takes  up 
a  point  of  view,  you  know,  or  an  impression  of  a 
person,  nothing  alters  it.  Dear  me,  we  used  to  think 
her  obstinate.  Only  everybody  gave  way  to  her. 
That  was  her  father's  fault.  He  never  would  have 
her  thwarted.  But  she's  turned  out  very  well,  hasn't 
she?  So  I  can't  blame  him.  I  know  your  mother 
thought  us  rather  lax." 

"  Ah,  my  mother  was  not  lax." 

"  It  only  shows  there's  room  for  both  ways, 
doesn't  it  ?  What  was  I  saying  ?  " 

I  knew  what  she  had  been  saying,  but  not  which 
part  of  it  she  desired  to  repeat.  However  she  found 
it  for  herself  in  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  yes !  No,  she  never  changes.  Just  what 
she  is  to  you  now  she'll  be  all  her  life.  I  never  knew 
her  to  change.  She  just  loves  you  or  she  doesn't, 
and  there  it  rests.  You  may  feel  quite  safe." 

"  How  very  satisfactory  all  this  is,  Cousin  Eliza- 
beth !  " 

"  Satisfactory?"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  momentary 
surprise  at  my  epithet.  But  her  theory  came  to  the 
rescue.  "  Oh,  I  know  you  always  talk  like  that. 
Well,  I  don't  expect  you  to  talk  like  a  lover  to  me. 
It's  quite  enough  if  you  do  it  to  Elsa.  Yes,  it  is — 
satisfactory,  isn't  it  ?  "  The  good  creature  laughed 
heartily  and  squeezed  my  hand.  "  She'll  never 
change,"  she  repeated  once  again  in  an  ample,  com- 
fortable contentment.  "  And  you  don't  mind  show- 
ing what  you  feel,  do  you  ?  " 

Cousin  Elizabeth  was  chaffing  me. 


344 


THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 


"  On  my  word,  I  forgot  how  public  we  were," 
said  I.  "  My  feelings  ran  away  with  me." 

"  Oh,  why  should  you  be  ashamed  ?  They  might 
laugh,  but  I'm  sure  they  envied  you." 

It  was  strange  enough,  but  it  is  very  likely  that 
they  did.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  learned  not  to 
envy  people  without  knowing  a  good  deal  about  them 
and  their  affairs. 

"  Because,"  pursued  Cousin  Elizabeth,  "  I  have 
always  in  my  heart  hated  merely  arranged  marriages. 
They're  not  right,  you  know,  Augustin.  They  may 
be  necessary,  but  they're  not  right." 

"  Very  necessary,  but  quite  wrong,"  I  agreed. 

"  And  at  one  time  I  was  the  least  bit  afraid — 
However  I  was  a  silly  old  woman.  Do  look  at  her 
talking  to  your  mother.  Oh,  of  course,  you  were 
looking  at  her  already.  You  weren't  listening  to  my 
chatter." 

But  I  had  listened  to  Cousin  Elizabeth's  chat- 
ter. She  had  told  me  something  of  interest.  Elsa 
would  never  change ;  she  took  a  view  and  a  relation 
toward  a  person  and  maintained  them.  What  she 
was  to  me  now  she  would  be  always. 

"  My  dear  cousin,  I  have  listened  with  keen  in- 
terest to  every  word  that  you've  said,"  I  protested 
truthfully. 

"  That's  your  politeness.  I  know  what  lovers 
are,"  said  Cousin  Elizabeth. 

I  looked  across  to  the  Duke's  passive  tired 
face.  The  thought  crossed  my  mind  that  Cousin 
Elizabeth  must  have  depended  on  observation 
rather  than  on  experience  for  the  impressions  to 
which  she  referred.  However  she  afforded  me 
an  opportunity  for  escape,  which  I  embraced  with 
alacrity. 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   COUNTESS. 


345 


As  I  passed  my  mother,  she  beckoned  to  me. 
Elsa  had  left  her,  and  she  was  alone  for  the  moment. 
It  seemed  that  she  had  a  word  to  say  to  me,  and  on 
the  subject  concerning  which  I  thought  it  likely 
enough  that  she  would  have  something  to  say — the 
engagement  of  Coralie  to  sing  at  the  gala  perform- 
ance. 

"  Was  there  not  some  unpleasant  talk  about  this 
Madame  Mansoni?"  she  asked. 

"  Well,  there  was  talk/"  said  I,  smiling  and  allow- 
ing my  eyes  to  rest  on  the  figure  of  William  Adol- 
phus,  visible  in  the  distance.  "  It  would  have  been 
better  not  to  have  her,  perhaps.  It  can  be  altered, 
I  suppose." 

"  Bederhof  sanctioned  it  without  referring  to  you 
or  to  me.  It  has  become  public  now." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  that." 

"  Yes ;  it's  in  the  evening  papers." 

"  Any — any  remarks  ?  " 

"  No,  except  that  the  Vorwarts  calls  it  an  extraor- 
dinarily suitable  selection." 

"The  Vorwarts?  Yes,"  said  I  thoughtfully. 
Wetter  wrote  for  the  Vorwarts.  "  Perhaps  then  to 
cancel  it  would  make  more  talk  than  to  let  it  stand. 
The  whole  story  is  very  old." 

Princess  Heinrich  permitted  a  smile  to  appear 
on  her  face  as  with  a  wave  of  her  fan  she  relegated 
Coralie  to  a  proper  insignificance.  She  was  smiling 
still  as  she  added : 

"  There's  another  old  acquaintance  coming  to  as- 
sist at  the  wedding,  Augustin.  I  telegraphed  to  ask 
her,  and  she  has  answered  accepting  the  invitation 
in  the  warmest  terms." 

"  Indeed !    Who  is  that,  pray  ?  " 

"  The  Baroness,"  said  my  mother. 

23 


346  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

I  stared  at  her;  then  I  cried  with  a  laugh, 
"Krak?  Not'Krak?" 

"  Yes,  Krak,  as  you  naughty  children  used  to 
call  her." 

"  Good  Heavens,  does  the  world  still  hold 
Krak?" 

"  Of  course.  She's  rather  an  old  woman,  though. 
You'll  be  kind  to  her,  Augustin?  She  was  always 
very  fond  of  you." 

"  I  will  treat  Krak,"  said  I,  "  with  all  affec- 
tion." 

Surely  I  would,  for  Krak's  coming  put  the  crown 
of  completeness  on  the  occasion.  But  I  was  amazed ; 
Krak  was  utterly  stuff  of  the  past. 

My  mother  did  not  appear  to  desire  my  presence 
longer;  I  had  to  take  up  my  own  position  and  re- 
ceive farewells. 

A  dreary  half  hour  passed  in  this  occupation ; 
at  last  the  throng  grew  thin.  I  broke  away  and 
sauntered  off  to  a  buffet  for  a  sandwich  and  a 
glass  of  champagne.  There  I  saw  Wetter  and  Var- 
villiers  standing  together  and  refreshing  their  jaded 
bodies.  I  joined  them  at  once,  full  of  the  news 
about  Krak.  It  fell  rather  flat,  I  regret  to  say ;  Krak 
had  not  significance  for  them,  and  Wetter  was  full 
of  wild  brilliant  talk.  Varvilliers'  manner,  on  the 
other  hand,  although  displaying  now  no  awkwardness 
or  restraint,  showed  unusual  gentleness  and  gravity 
with  an  added  friendliness  very  welcome  to  me.  I 
stood  between  my  friends,  sipping  my  wine  and  de- 
taining them,  although  the  room  was  nearly  empty. 
I  felt  a  reluctance  to  part  and  an  invincible  repug- 
nance to  my  bed. 

"  Come  to  my  quarters,"  I  said,  "  and  we'll  have 
cigars." 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   COUNTESS.  347 

Varvilliers  bowed  ready  assent.  Wetter's  face 
twisted  into  a  smile. 

"  I  must  plead  excuse  to  the  command,"  he  said. 

"  Then  you're  a  rascal,  Wetter ;  I  want  you,  man, 
and  you  ought  not  to  be  expected  anywhere  this  time 
of  night." 

"  Not  at  home,  sire?  " 

"  Home  least  of  all,"  said  Varvilliers,  smiling. 

"  But  I  have  guests  at  home,"  cried  Wetter.  "  I've 
left  them  too  long.  But  Her  Royal  Highness  didn't 
invite  them ;  besides  it  was  necessary  to  practise  the 
song." 

"  What?    Are  they  with  you?  " 

"  Should  I  send  them  to  a  hotel,  sire  ?  My  friends 
the  Struboffs  !  No,  no  !  " 

Sipping  my  wine,  I  looked  doubtfully  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"  The  King,"  observed  Wetter  to  Varvilliers, 
"  would  be  interested  in  hearing  a  rehearsal  of  the 
song." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  Krak  comes  to-night,  and  I 
daren't  look  as  if  I'd  sat  up  beyond  my  hour." 

Wetter  laid  his  ringer  on  my  arm. 

"  One  more  night,"  he  said.  Varvilliers  laughed. 
"  I  have  the  same  old  servant.  He's  very  discreet !  " 

"  But  you'll  put  it  in  the  Vorwarts !  " 

"  No,  no,  not  if  the  meeting-place  is  my  own 
house." 

"  I'll  do  it !  "  I  cried.  "  Come,  let's  have  a  car- 
riage." 

"  Mine  waits,"  said  Varvilliers,  "  at  your  dis- 
posal. I'll  see  about  it,"  and  off  he  ran.  Wetter 
turned  to  me. 

"  An  interesting  quartette  there  in  the  recess," 
said  he. 


348 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


"  And  an  insolent  fellow  looking  on  at  it,"  said  I. 

"  I'll  write  an  article  on  your  impulsive  love- 
making  before  all  the  world." 

"  Do ;  I  can  conceive  nothing  more  politic." 

"  It  shall  teem  with  sincerity." 

"  Never  a  jest  anywhere  in  it  ?    Not  one  for  me  ?  " 

"  No.  Jests  are  in  place  only  when  one  tells  the 
truth.  A  lie  must  be  solemn,  sire." 

"  True.    Write  it  to  your  mood." 

And  to  his  mood  he  wrote  it,  eloquently,  beauti- 
fully, charged  with  the  passion  of  that  joy  which  he 
realized  in  imagination,  but  could  not  find  in  his 
stormy  life.  I  read  it  two  or  three  days  later  at 
Artenberg. 

"  Hey  for  the  wedding-song  and  one  night 
more  !  "  he  cried. 

We  rolled  off,  we  three,  in  Varvilliers'  carriage. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

OF    GRAZES    ON    THE   KNEE. 

THERE  was  no  doubt  that  they  practised  the  mar- 
riage-song. Coralie's  voice  echoed  through  the 
house  as  we  entered.  For  a  moment  we  paused  in 
the  hall  to  listen.  Then  Wetter  dashed  up  the  stairs, 
crying,  "  Good  God !  Wooden,  wooden,  wooden !  " 
We  followed  him  at  a  run ;  he  flung  the  door  open 
and  rushed  in.  Coralie  broke  off  her  singing  and 
came  to  greet  me  with  a  little  cry  of  pleased  sur- 
prise. Struboff  sat  at  the  piano,  looking  rather  be- 
wildered. Supper  was  spread  on  a  table  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room.  When  Struboff  tried  to  rise,  Wet- 
ter thrust  him  back  into  his  seat.  "  No,  no,  the  King 
doesn't  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said.  "  He  wants 
to  hear  madame  sing,  to  hear  you  play.  Coralie, 
come  and  sing  again,  and,  for  God's  sake  sing  it  as  if 
it  meant  something,  dear  Coralie." 

"  It's  such  nonsense,"  said  Coralie,  writh  a  pout- 
ing smile. 

"  Nonsense  ?  Then  it  needs  all  your  efforts.  As 
if — as  if,  I  say — it  meant  something." 

Varvilliers,  laughing,  flung  himself  on  a  sofa,  I 
stood  at  the  end  of  the  piano,  Wetter  was  ges- 
ticulating and  muttering  on  the  hearthrug.  Stru- 
boff put  his  fingers  on  the  keys  again  and  began  to 
play;  after  a  sigh  of  weariness  Coralie  uplifted  her 

349 


350  THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 

voice.  It  came  fresh  and  full ;  the  weariness  was  of 
the  spirit  only.  The  piece  was  good,  nay,  very  good ; 
there  were  feeling  and  passion  in  the  music.  I  looked 
at  Struboff.  His  fingers  moved  tenderly,  tears  stood 
in  his  little  eyes.  Coralie  shouted  perfect  notes  in 
perfect  heartlessness. 

"  My  God !  "  muttered  Wetter  from  the  hearth- 
rug, and  bounded  across  to  her.  He  caught  her  by 
the  arm. 

"  Feel,  feel,  feel !  "  he  cried  angrily. 

"  Don't  be  so  stupid,"  said  Coralie. 

"  She  can't  feel  it,"  said  Struboff,  taking  his  hand- 
kerchief and  wiping  brow  and  eyes. 

"  She's  a  fortunate  woman,"  remarked  Varvilliers 
from  his  sofa". 

"  You'd  think  she  could,"  said  Wetter,  taking 
both  her  hands  and  surveying  her  from  top  to  toe. 
11  You'd  think  she  could  understand.  Look  at  her 
eyes,  her  brows,  her  lips.  You'd  think  she  could 
understand.  Look  at  her  hands,  her  waist,  her  neck. 
It's  a  little  strange,  isn't  it?  See,  she  smiles  at  me. 
She  has  an  adorably  good  temper.  She  doesn't  mind 
me  in  the  least.  It's  just  that  she  happens  not  to  be 
able  to  feel." 

During  all  this  outburst  Struboff  played  softly 
and  tenderly;  a  large  tear  formed  now  in  each  of 
his  eyes,  and  presently  trickled  over  the  swelling 
hillocks  underneath  his  cheek  bones.  Coralie  was 
smiling  placidly  at  Wetter,  thinking  him  mad  enough, 
but  in  no  way  put  out  by  his  criticism. 

"  I  can  feel  it,"  said  Wetter,  in  a  whimsically  puz- 
zled tone.  "Why  should  I  feel  it?  I'm  not  young 
or  beautiful,  and  my  voice  is  the  worse  for  wear,  be- 
cause I've  had  to  denounce  the  King  so  much.  Nev- 
ertheless I  can  feel  it." 


OF   GRAZES   ON    THE    KNEE.  351 

"  You  can  make  a  big  fool  of  yourself,"  observed 
Coralie,  breaking  into  a  laugh  and  snatching  her 
hands  away  from  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,  I  should  hope  so,"  he  cried. 
"  She  catches  the  point!  Is  there  hope?  No,  she 
won't  make  a  fool  of  herself.  There's  no  hope." 
He  sank  into  a  chair  with  every  appearance  of  de- 
jection. 

"  I  think  it's  supper-time,"  she  said,  moving  to- 
ward the  table.  "What  are  you  still  playing  for?" 
she  called  to  Struboff. 

"  Let  him  play,"  said  I.  "  Perhaps  he  would 
rather  play  than  sup." 

"  It's  very  likely,"  Coralie  admitted  with,  a  shrug. 
Struboff  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  nodded 
solemnly.  He  was  playing  low  now,  giving  a  plain- 
tive turn  to  the  music  that  had  been  joyful.  - 

"  No,  you  shall  try  it  once  again,"  cried  Wetter, 
leaping  up.  "  Once  again !  A  verse  of  it !  I'll  stand 
opposite  to  you.  See,  like  this ;  and  I'll  look  at  you. 
Now  try !  " 

She  was  very  good-natured  with  him,  and  did  as 
he  bade  her.  He  took  his  stand  just  by  her,  behind 
Struboff,  and  gazed  into  her  face.  I  could  see  him; 
his  lips  twitched,  and  his  eyes  were  set  on  her  in  an 
ardour  of  passion. 

"  Look  in  my  eyes  and  sing !  "  he  commanded. 

"  Ah,  you're  silly,"  she  murmured  in  her  pleas- 
ant lazy  drawl.  She  threw  out  her  chest,  and  filled 
the  room  with  healthy  tuneful  sound. 

"  Stop !  "  he  cried.  "  Stop !  I  can  endure  no  more 
of  it.  Can  you  eat?  Yes,  you  can  eat.  In  God's 
name,  come  and  eat,  dear  Coralie." 

Coralie  appealed  to  me. 

"  Don't   you   think   I   sing   it   very   well  ? "   she 


352  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

asked.  "  I  can  fill  the  Grand  Opera  House  quite 
easily." 

"  You  sing  it  to  perfection,"  said  I.  "  There's 
nothing  wrong,  nothing  at  all.  Wetter  here  is  mad." 

"  Wetter  is  certainly  mad,"  echoed  Varvilliers, 
rising  from  the  sofa. 

"  Wetter  is  damned  mad,"  said  Wetter. 

"  Wetter  is  right — ah,  so  right,"  came  in  a  de- 
spairing grumble  from  poor  Struboff,  who  still  played 
away* 

"  To  supper,  to  supper !  "  cried  Wetter.  "  You're 
right,  all  of  you.  And  I'm  right.  And  I'm  mad. 
To  supper !  No,  let  Struboff  play.  Struboff,  you 
want  to  play.  Play  on." 

Struboff  nodded  again  and  played  on.  His  notes, 
now  plaintive,  now  triumphant,  were  the  accompani- 
ment to  our  meal,  filling  the  pauses,  enriching,  as  it 
seemed,  the  talk.  But  Coralie  was  deep  in  foie  gras, 
and  paid  no  heed  to  them.  Wetter  engaged  in  some 
vehement  discussion  with  Varvilliers,  who  met  him 
with  good-humoured  pertinacity.  I  had  dropped  out 
of  the  talk,  and  sat  listening  dreamily  to  Struboff's 
music.  Suddenly  Coralie  laid  down  her  knife  and 
turned  to  me. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  nice  if  I  were  going  to  be  mar- 
ried to  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Charming,"  said  I.  "  But  what  of  our  dear  M. 
Struboff?  And  what  of  my  Cousin  Elsa?" 

"We  wouldn't  trouble  about  them."  She  was 
looking  at  me  with  a  shrewd  gaze.  "  No,"  she  said, 
"  you  wouldn't  like  it.  Shall  we  try  another  arrange- 
ment ?  "  She  leaned  toward  me  and  laid  her  pretty 
hand  on  my  arm.  "  Wetter  and  I — I  am  not  very 
well  placed,  but  let  it  pass — Wetter  and  I,  Varvilliers 
and  the  Princess,  you  and  the  Countess." 


OF    GRAZES   ON    THE    KNEE.  353 

I  made  no  sign  of  appreciating  this  rather  pene- 
trating suggestion. 

"  You're  more  capricious  than  fortune,  more  arbi- 
trary than  fate,  madame,"  said  I.  "  Moreover,  you 
have  again  forgotten  to  provide  for  M.  Struboff." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  smiled. 

"  No,"  she  said  meditatively.  "  I  don't  like  that 
after  all.  It  might  do  for  M.  de  Varvilliers,  but  the 
Countess  is  too  old,  and  Wetter  there  would  cut  my 
throat.  We  can't  sacrifice  everything  to  give  Var- 
villiers a  Princess."  She  appeared  to  reflect  for  a 
few  seconds.  "  I  don't  know  how  to  arrange  it." 

"  Positively  I  should  be  at  a  loss  myself  if  I  were 
called  upon  to  govern  the  world  at  short  notice." 

"  I  think  I  must  let  it  alone.  I  don't  see  how  to 
make  it  better." 

"  Thank  you.  For  my  own  part  I  have  the  good 
luck  to  be  in  love  with  my  cousin." 

Coralie  lifted  her  eyes  to  mine.  "  Oh,  no !  "  she 
drawled  quietly.  Then  she  added  with  a  laugh,  "  Do 
you  remember  when  you  fought  Wetter  ?  " 

"  Heavens  !  yes  ;  fools  that  we  were !  Not  a  word 
of  it!  Nobody  knows." 

"  Well,  at  that  time  you  were  in  love  with  me." 

"  Madame,  I  will  have  the  honour  of  mentioning 
a  much  more  remarkable  thing  to  you." 

"  If  you  please,  sire,"  she  said,  taking  a  bunch 
of  grapes  and  beginning  to  eat  them. 

"  You  were  all  but  in  love  with  me." 

"  That's  not  remarkable.  You're  too  humble.  I 
was  ;  ah,  yes,  I  was.  I  was  very  afraid  for  you.  Mon 
ami,  don't  you  wish  that,  instead  of  being  King  here, 
you  were  the  Sultan  ?  " 

I  laughed  at  this  abrupt  and  somewhat  uncere- 
monious question. 


354  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  In  fact,  Coralie,"  said  I,  "  there  are  only  two 
really  satisfactory  things  to  be  in  this  life;  all  else 
is  miserable  compromise." 

"  Tell  them  to  me." 

"  A  Sultan  or  a  monk.  And — pardon  me — give 
me  the  latter." 

"  Well,  I  once  knew  a  monk  very  well,  and — 
began  Coralie  in  a  tone  of  meditative  reminiscence. 
But,  rather  to  my  vexation,  Wetter  spoiled  the  story 
by  asking  what  we  were  talking  about  with  our  heads 
so  close  together. 

"  We  were  correcting  Fate  and  re-arranging  Des- 
tiny," I  explained. 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  "  he  cried.  "  You'd  not  get  rid  of 
the  tragedy,  and  only  spoil  the  comedy.  Let  it  alone, 
my  children." 

We  let  it  alone,  and  began  to  chatter  honest  non- 
sense. This  had  been  going  on  for  a  few  minutes, 
when  I  became  aware  suddenly  that  Struboff  had 
ceased  playing  my  wedding-song.  I  looked  round ; 
he  sat  on  the  piano-stool,  his  broad  back  like  a  tree- 
trunk  bent  to  a  bow,  and  his  head  settled  on  his 
shoulders  till  a  red  bulge  over  his  collar  was  all  that 
survived  of  his  neck.  I  rose  softly,  signing  to  the 
others  not  to  interrupt  their  conversation,  and  stole 
up  to  him.  He  did  not  move ;  his  hands  were  clasped 
on  his  stomach.  I  peered  round  into  his  face ;  its 
lines  were  set  in  a  grotesque  heavy  melancholy.  At 
first  I  felt  very  sorry  for  him  ;  but  as  I  went  on  look- 
ing at  him  something  of  Coralie's  feeling  came  over 
me,  and  I  grew  angry.  That  he  was  doubtless  very 
miserable  ceased  to  plead  for  him,  nay,  it  aggravated 
his  offence.  What  the  deuce  right  had  this  fellow 
to  make  misery  repulsive?  And  it  was  over  my 
wedding  song  that  he  had  tortured  himself  into  this 


OF   GRAZES   ON   THE   KNEE.  355 

ludicrous  condition !  Yet  again  it  was  a  pleasant 
paradox  of  Nature's  to  dower  this  carcass  with  the 
sensibility  which  might  have  given  a  crowning  charm 
to  the  beauty  of  Coralie.  In  him  it  could  attract  no 
love,  to  him  it  could  bring  no  happiness.  Probably 
it  caused  him  to  play  the  piano  better;  if  this  justi- 
fies Nature,  she  is  welcome  to  the  plea.  For  my  part, 
I  felt  that  it  was  monstrously  bad  taste  in  him  to 
come  and  be  miserable  here  and  now  in  Forstadt. 
But  he  overshot  his  mark. 

"  Good  God,  my  dear  Struboff !  "  I  cried  in  ex- 
treme annoyance,  "  think  how  little  it  matters,  how 
little  any  of  us  care,  even,  if  you  like,  how  little  you 
ought  to  care  yourself !  You've  tumbled  down  on 
the  gravel ;  very  well !  Stop  crying,  and  don't,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  keep  showing  me  the  graze  on  your 
knee.  We  all,  I  suppose,  have  grazes  on  our  knees. 
Get  your  mother  to  put  you  into  stockings,  and  no- 
body will  see  it.  I've  been  in  stockings  for  years." 
I  burst  into  a  laugh. 

He  did  not  understand  what  I  would  be  at ;  that, 
perhaps,  was  hardly  wonderful. 

"  The  music  has  affected  me,"  he  mumbled. 

:<  Then  come  and  let  some  champagne  affect  you," 
I  advised  him  irritably.  "  What,  are  you  to  spoil  a 
pleasant  evening?  " 

He  looked  at  me  with  ponderous  sorrowful  re- 
proach. 

"  A  pleasant  evening !  "  he  groaned,  as  he  blew 
his  nose. 

"  Yes,"  I  cried  loudly.  "  A  damnably  pleasant 
evening,  M.  Struboff,"  and  I  caught  him  by  the 
arm,  dragged  him  from  his  stool,  and  carried  him 
off  to  the  table  with  me.  Here  I  set  him  down  be- 
tween Varvilliers  and  myself;  Wetter  and  Coralie, 


356  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

deep  in  low-voiced  conversation,  paid  no  heed  to  him. 
He  began  to  eat  and  drink  eagerly  and  with  appetite. 

"  You  perceive,  Struboff,"  said  I  persuasively, 
"  that  while  we  have  stomachs — and  none,  my  friend, 
can  deny  that  you  have  one — the  world  is  not  empty 
of  delight.  You  and  I  may  have  our  grazes — Var- 
villiers,  have  you  a  graze  on  the  knee  by  chance? — 
but  consider,  I  pray  you,  the  case  of  the  man  who 
has  no  dinner." 

"  It  would  be  very  bad  to  have  no  dinner,"  said 
Struboff,  in  full-mouthed  meditation. 

"  Besides  that,"  said  I  lightly — I  grew  better 
tempered  every  moment — "  what  are  these  fine-spun 
miseries  with  which  we  afflict  ourselves?  To  be 
empty,  to  be  thirsty,  to  be  cold — these  are  evils.  Was 
ever  any  man,  well-fed,  well-drunk,  and  well-warmed, 
really  miserable?  Reflect  before  you  answer,  Stru- 
boff." 

He  drained  a  glass  of  champagne,  and,  I  suppose, 
reflected. 

"  If  he  had  his  piano  also "  he  began. 

"  Great  Heavens  !  "  I  interrupted  with  a  laugh. 

Coralie  turned  from  Wetter  and  fixed  her  eyes 
on  her  husband.  He  perceived  her  glance  directly; 
his  appetite  appeared  to  become  enfeebled,  and  he 
drank  his  wine  with  apologetic  slowness.  She  went 
on  looking  at  him  with  a  merciless  amusement ;  his 
whole  manner  became  expressive  of  a  wish  to  be  else- 
where. I  saw  Varvilliers  smothering  a  smile ;  he 
sacrificed  much  to  good  manners.  I  myself  laughed 
gently.  Suddenly,  to  my  surprise,  Wetter  caught 
Coralie  by  the  wrist. 

"  You  see  that  man  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling  and  fix- 
ing his  eyes  on  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see  my  husband,"  said  she. 


OF    GRAZES   ON    THE    KNEE. 


357 


"  Your  husband,  yes.  Shall  I  tell  you  some- 
thing? You  remember  what  I've  been  saying  to 
you?" 

"  Very  well ;  you've  repeated  it  often.  Are  you 
going  to  repeat  it  now  out  loud  ?  " 

"  Where's  the  use  ?  Everybody  here  knows.  I'll 
tell  you  another  thing."  He  leaned  forward,  still 
holding  her  wrist  tightly.  "  Look  at  Struboff,"  he 
said.  "  Look  well  at  him." 

"  I  am  giving  myself  the  pleasure  of  looking  at 
M.  Struboff,"  said  Coralie. 

"  Very  well.  When  you  die — because  you'll  grow 
old,  and  you'll  grow  ugly,  and  at  last,  after  you  have 
become  very  ugly,  you'll  die." 

Coralie  looked  rather  vexed,  a  little  perturbed  and 
protesting.  Wetter  had  touched  the  one  point  on 
which  she  had  troubled  herself  to  criticise  the  order 
of  the  universe. 

"  When,  I  say,  you  die,"  pursued  Wetter,  "  when, 
after  growing  extremely  ugly,  you  die,  you  will  be 
sent  to  hell  because  you  have  not  appreciated  the  vir- 
tues or  repaid  the  devotion  of  my  good  friend  M. 
Struboff.  And,  sire  "  (he  turned  to  me),  "  when  one 
considers  that,  it  appears  unreasonable  to  imagine 
that  eternity  will  be  in  any  degree  less  peculiar  than 
this  present  life  of  ours." 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  Coralie,  "  but  after 
having  grown  ugly  I  don't  think  I  should  mind  any- 
thing else." 

I  clapped  my  hands. 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  if  M.  Struboff  will  pardon 
the  supposition,  that  madame  will  be  allowed  to  es- 
cape perdition.  For,  see,  she  will  stand  up  and  she 
will  say  quite  calmly,  with  that  adorable  smile  of 


358 


THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 


"  They  don't  mind  smiles  there,  sire/'  put  in  Var- 
villiers. 

"  She'll  smile  not  to  please  them,  but  because  she's 
amused,"  said  I.  "  She'll  say  with  her  adorable 
smile,  '  This  and  that  I  have  done,  this  and  that  I 
have  not  done.  Perhaps  I  did  wrong,  I  have  not 
studied  your  rules.  But  you  can't  send  me  to  hell.' ' 

They  all  appeared  to  be  listening  with  attentive 
ears. 

"  Here's  a  good  advocate,"  said  Wetter.  "  Let  us 
hear  the  plea." 

"  '  You  can't  send  me  to  hell  because  I  have  not 
pretended.  I  have  been  myself,  and  I  didn't  make 
myself.  I  can't  go  to  hell  with  the  pretenders.' ' 

"  But  to  heaven  with  the  kings  ?  "  asked  Var- 
villiers. 

"  With  the  kings  who  have  not  also  been  pretend- 
ers," said  I. 

"  Norn  dc  Dicu,"  said  she,  "  I  believe  that  I  shall 
escape,  after  all.  So  you  and  I  will  be  separated, 
Wretter." 

"  No,  no,"  he  protested.  "  Unless  you're  there 
the  place  won't  be  itself  to  me." 

We  all  laughed — Struboff  not  in  appreciation,  but 
with  a  nervous  desire  to  make  himself  agreeable — 
and  I  rose  from  my  seat.  It  was  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  Struboff  yawned  mightily  as  he  drank 
a  final  glass  and  patted  his  stomach.  I  think  that  we 
were  all  happier  than  when  we  sat  down. 

"And  after  the  occasion,  whither?"  I  asked 
them. 

"  I  back  to  France,"  answered  Varvilliers. 

"  We  to  Munich,"  said  Coralie,  with  a  shrug. 

"  I  the  deuce  knows  where,"  laughed  Wetter. 

"  I  also  the  deuce  knows  where.     Come,  then,  to 


OF   GRAZES   ON   THE   KNEE. 

our  next  merry  supper ! "  I  poured  out  a  glass 
of  wine.  They  all  followed  my  example,  and  we 
drank. 

"  But  we  shall  have  no  more,"  said  Wetter. 

A  moment's  silence  fell  on  us  all.  Then  Wetter 
spoke  again.  He  turned  to  them  and  indicated  me 
with  a  gesture. 

"  He's  a  good  fellow,  our  Augustin." 

"  Yes,  a  good  fellow,"  said  Varvilliers. 

"  A  very  good  fellow,"  muttered  Struboff,  who 
was  more  than  a  little  gone  in  liquor. 

"  A  good  fellow,"  said  Coralie.  Then  she  stepped 
up  to  me,  put  her  hands  on  my  shoulders,  and  kissed 
me  on  both  cheeks.  "  A  good  fellow,  our  little  Au- 
gustin," said  she. 

There  was  nothing  much  in  this ;  casual  phrases 
of  goodwill,  spoken  at  a  moment  of  conviviality,  the 
outcome  of  genuine  but  perhaps  not  very  deep  feeling, 
except  for  that  trifle  of  the  kisses  almost  an  ordinary 
accompaniment  or  conclusion  of  an  evening's  enter- 
tainment. I  was  a  good  fellow ;  the  light  praise  had 
been  lightly  won.  Yet  even  now  as  I  write,  looking 
back  over  the  years,  I  can  not,  when  I  accuse  myself 
of  mawkishness,  be  altogether  convinced  by  the  self- 
denunciation.  For  what  it  was  worth,  the  thing  came 
home  to  me ;  for  a  moment  it  overleaped  the  barriers 
that  were  round  me,  the  differences  that  made  a 
hedge  between  me  and  them  ;  for  a  moment  they  had 
forgotten  that  I  was  not  merely  their  good  comrade. 
I  would  not  have  people  forget  often  what  I  am ;  but 
now  and  then  it  is  pleasant  to  be  no  more  than  what 
I  myself  am.  And  the  two  there,  Wetter  and  Var- 
villiers, were  the  nearest  to  friends  that  I  have  known. 
One  went  back  to  his  country,  the  other  the  deuce 
knew  where.  I  should  be  alone. 


360  THE   KING'S    MIRROR. 

Alone  I  made  my  way  back  from  Welter's  house, 
alone  and  on  foot.  I  had  a  fancy  to  walk  thus  through 
the  decorated  streets ;  alone  to  pause  an  instant  be- 
fore the  Countess'  door,  recollecting  many  things; 
alone  to  tell  myself  that  the  stocking  must  be  kept 
over  the  graze,  and  that  the  asking  of  sympathy  was 
the  betrayal  of  my  soul's  confidence  to  me ;  alone  to 
be  weak,  alone  to  be  strong;  alone  to  determine  to 
do  my  work  with  my  own  life,  alone  to  hope  that  I 
must  not  render  too  wretched  the  life  of  another.  I 
had  good  from  that  walk  of  mine.  For  you  see, 
when  a  man  is  alone,  above  all,  I  think,  when  he  is 
alone  in  the  truce  of  night,  one  day's  fight  done 
and  the  new  morning's  battle  not  yet  joined,  he  can 
pause  and  stand  and  think.  He  can  be  still ;  then 
his  worst  and  his  best  steal  out,  like  mice  from  their 
holes  (the  cat  of  convention  is  asleep),  and  play 
their  gambols  and  antics  before  his  eyes :  he  knows 
them  and  himself,  and  reaches  forth  to  know  the 
world  and  his  work  in  it,  his  life  and  the  end  of  it, 
the  difference,  if  any,  that  he  has  made  by  spending 
so  much  pains  on  living. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  a  sleepy  night-porter 
let  me  in.  My  servants  had  orders  never  to  wait  be- 
yond two,  and  in  my  rooms  all  was  dark  and  quiet. 
But  when  I  lit  a  candle  from  the  little  lamp  by  the 
door,  I  saw  somebody  lying  on  the  sofa  in  my  dress- 
ing-room, a  woman's  figure  stretched  in  the  luxury 
of  quiet  sleep.  Victoria  this  must  be  and  none  else. 
I  was  glad  to  see  her  there  and  to  catch  her  drowsy 
smile  as  her  eyes  opened  under  the  glare  of  my 
candle. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here,  my 
dear?"  said  I,  setting  down  the  candle  and  putting 
my  hands  in  my  pockets. 


OF   GRAZES   ON    THE    KNEE.  361 

She  sat  up,  whisking  her  skirts  round  with  one 
hand  and  rubbing  her  eyes  with  the  other. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  about  Krak — Krak's  come. 
But  you  weren't  here.  So  I  lay  down,  and  I  suppose 
I  went  to  sleep." 

"  I  suppose  you  did.     And  how's  Krak  ?  " 

"  Just  the  same  as  ever !  " 

"  Brought  a  birch  with  her,  in  case  I  should  rebel 
at  the  last?" 

Victoria  laughed. 

"  Oh,  well,  you'll  see  her  to-morrow,"  she  re- 
marked. "  She's  just  the  same.  I'm  rather  glad, 
you  know,  that  Krak  hasn't  been  softened  by  age. 
It  would  have  been  commonplace." 

"  Besides,  one  doesn't  want  to  exaggerate  the 
power  of  advancing  years.  You  didn't  come  for  any- 
thing except  to  tell  me  about  Krak  ?  " 

Victoria  got  up,  came  to  me,  and  kissed  me. 

"  No,  nothing  else,"  she  said.  She  stopped  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  remarked  abruptly,  "  You're  not  a 
bit  like  William  Adolphus." 

"No?"  said  I,  divining  in  a  flash  her  thought 
and  her  purpose.  "  Still — have  you  been  with  Elsa 
to-night?" 

"  Yes ;  after  Cousin  Elizabeth  and  mother  left 
her.  You — you'll  be  kind  to  her?  I  told  her  that 
she  was  very  silly,  and  that  I  wished  I  was  going 
to  marry  you." 

"  Oh,  you  did  ?    But  she  wishes  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  She  means  to,  of  course." 

"  Exactly.  My  dear,  you've  waited  a  long  while 
to  tell  me  something  I  knew  very  well." 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you'd  be  glad  to  see  me,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  laugh.  "Where  have  you  been? 

Not  to  the  Countess'  ?  " 

24 


362  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

"  Indeed,  no.    To  Wetter's." 

"Ah!    The  singer?" 
'  The  singer  of  my  marriage-song,  Victoria." 

Victoria  looked  at  me  in  a  rather  despairing 
fashion. 

"  Her  singing  of  it,"  I  added,  "  will  be  the  most 
perfect  and  appropriate  thing  in  the  world.  You'll 
be  delighted  when  you  hear  it.  For  the  rest,  my 
dear  sister,  Hammerfeldt  looks  down  from  heaven 
and  is  well  pleased." 

Victoria  sat  on  the  sofa  again.  I  went  to  the 
window,  unfastened  the  shutters,  and  pulled  up  the 
blinds.  A  single  star  shone  yet  in  the  gray  sky.  I 
stood  looking  at  it  for  a  few  minutes,  then  lit  a  ciga- 
rette, and  turned  round.  Victoria  was  on  the  sofa 
still ;  she  was  crying  in  a  quiet  matter-of-fact  way, 
not  passionately,  but  writh  a  rather  methodical  air. 
She  glanced  at  me  for  a  moment,  but  said  nothing. 
Neither  did  I  speak.  I  leaned  against  the  wall  and 
smoked  my  cigarette.  For  five  minutes,  I  should 
suppose,  this  state  of  things  went  on.  Then  I  flung 
away  the  cigarette,  Victoria  stopped  crying,  wiped 
her  eyes,  and  got  up. 

"  I  rather  wish  we'd  been  born  in  the  gutter," 
said  she.  "  Good-night,  dear." 

She  kissed  me,  and  I  bade  her  good-night. 

"  I  must  get  some  sleep,  or  I  shall  look  frightful. 
I  hope  William  Adolphus  won't  be  snoring  very  loud, 
I  hear  him  so  plainly  through  the  wall,"  she  said  as 
she  started  for  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

AS   BEDERHOF   ARRANGED. 

OF  the  next  day  I  have  three  visions. 

I  see  myself  with  Krak  and  Princess  Heinrich. 
Pride  illuminated  their  faces  with  a  cold  radiance, 
and  their  utterances  were  conceived  in  the  spirit  of  a 
Nunc  Dimittis.  They  congratulated  the  world  on  its 
Ruler,  the  kingdom  on  its  King,  themselves  on  my 
account,  me  on  theirs.  To  Krak  I  was  her  achieve- 
ment; to  my  mother  the  vindication  of  the  support 
she  had  given  to  Krak,  and  the  refutation  of  my  own 
grumblings  and  rebellion.  How  could  I  not  be  re- 
minded of  my  coronation  day?  How  not  smile  when 
the  Princess,  after  observing  regretfully  that  the 
Baroness  would  not  be  able  to  educate  my  children, 
bade  me  inculcate  her  principles  in  the  mind  of  their 
tutor  or  governess.  She  was  afraid,  she  said,  that 
dear  Elsa  might  be  a  little  lacking  in  firmness,  a  little 
prone  to  that  indulgence  which  is  no  true  kindness 
in  the  end.  "  The  very  reverse  of  it,  madame,"  added 
Krak. 

"  It's  quite  time  enough  for  them  to  begin  to  do 
as  they  like  when  they  grow  up,"  said  the  Princess 
Heinrich. 

"  By  then,  though,"  said  Krak,  "  they  will  have 
learned,  I  hope,  to  do  what  they  ought." 

"  I  hope  so  with  all  my  heart,  Baroness,"  said  I. 

363 


364 


THE    KING'S   MIRROR. 


"  Victoria  is  absurdly  weak  with  her  child,"  Prin- 
cess Heinrich  complained. 

Krak  smiled  significantly.  She  had  never  expect- 
ed much  of  Victoria;  the  repression  of  exuberant 
wickedness  had  been  the  bounds  of  her  hope. 

Krak  left  us.  There  must  have  been  some  notice- 
able expression  on  my  face  as  I  watched  her  go,  for 
my  mother  said  with  a  smile : 

"  I  know  you  think  she  was  severe.  I  used  to 
think  so  too,  nowr  and  then.  But  see  how  well  you've 
turned  out,  Augustin !  " 

"  Madame,"  said  I,  "  my  present  excellence  and 
my  impending  happiness  reconcile  me  to  everything." 

"  You  had  a  very  happy  childhood,"  my  mother 
observed.  I  bowed.  "  And  now  you  are  going  to 
marry  the  girl  I  should  choose  for  you  above  all 
others."  Again  I  bowed.  "  And  public  affairs  are 
quiet  and  satisfactory."  A  third  time  I  bowed.  "  Kiss 
me,  Augustin,"  said  my  mother. 

This  summary  of  my  highly  successful  life  and 
reign  was  delivered  in  Princess  Heinrich's  most  con- 
clusive manner.  I  had  no  thought  of  disputing  it ; 
I  was  almost  surprised  that  the  facts  themselves  did 
not  suffer  an  immediate  transformation  to  match  the 
views  she  expressed.  What  matter  that  things  were 
not  so?  They  were  to  be  deemed  so  and  called  so, 
so  held  and  so  proclaimed.  My  mother's  courage 
touched  my  heart,  and  I  kissed  her  with  much  affec- 
tion. It  is  no  inconsiderable  achievement  to  be  con- 
sistently superior  to  reality.  I  who  fought  desperate 
doubtful  battles,  crippled  by  a  secret  traitorous  love 
of  the  enemy,  could  not  but  pay  homage  to  Princess 
Heinrich's  victorious  front. 

Next  I  see  myself  with  Elsa,  alone  for  a  little 
while  with  Elsa  exultant  in  her  pomp,  observed  of 


AS  BEDERHOF  ARRANGED.        365 

all,  the  envy  of  all,  the  centre  of  the  spectacle,  frocked 
and  jewelled  beyond  heart's  desire,  narcotized  by  fuss 
and  finery,  laughing  and  trembling.  I  had  found 
her  alone  with  difficulty,  for  she  kept  some  woman 
by  her  almost  all  the  day.  She  did  not  desire  to  be 
alone  with  me.  That  was  to  come  to-morrow  at 
Artenberg.  Now  was  her  moment,  and  she  strove 
to  think  it  eternal.  It  was  not  in  her  to  face  and 
conquer  the  great  enemy  after  Princess  Heinrich's 
heroic  fashion ;  she  could  only  turn  and  fly,  hiding 
from  herself  how  soon  she  must  be  overtaken.  She 
chattered  to  me  with  nervous  fluency,  making  haste 
always  to  choose  the  topic,  leaving  no  gap  for  the 
entrance  of  what  she  feared.  I  saw  in  her  eyes  the 
apprehension  that  filled  her.  Once  it  had  bred  in  me 
the  most  odious  humiliation,  an  intense  longing  to 
go  from  her,  a  passionate  loathing  for  the  necessity 
of  forcing  myself  on  her.  I  was  chastened  now;  I 
should  not  be  in  so  bad  a  case  as  Struboff;  there 
would  be  no  question  of  a  fresh  slice  of  bread.  But 
I  tried  to  harden  myself  against  her,  declaring  that, 
desiring  the  prize,  she  must  pay  the  price,  and  de- 
served no  pity  on  the  score  of  a  bargain  that  she  her- 
self had  ratified.  Alas,  poor  dear,  she  knew  neither 
how  small  the  prize  was  nor  how  great  the  price, 
and  her  eyes  prayed  me  not  to  turn  her  fears  to  cer- 
tainty. She  would  know  soon  enough. 

Last  comes  the  vision  of  the  theatre,  of  the  gala 
performance,  where  Elsa  and  I  sat  side  by  side, 
ringed  about  with  great  folk,  enveloped  in  splendour, 
making  a  spectacle  for  all  the  city,  a  sight  that  men 
now  remember  and  recall.  There  through  the  piece 
we  sat,  and  my  mind  was  at  work.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  all  my  life  was  pictured  there ;  I  had  but  to  look 
this  way  or  that,  and  dead  things  rose  from  the  grave 


366 


THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 


and  were  for  me  alive  again.  There  was  Krak's 
hard  face,  there  my  mother's  unconquerable  smile; 
a  glance  at  them  brought  back  childhood  with  its 
rigours,  its  pleasures  snatched  in  fearfulness,  its 
strange  ignorance  and  stranger  passing  gleams  of  in- 
sight. Victoria's  hand,  ringed,  and  gloved,  and  brace- 
leted,  held  her  fan ;  I  remembered  the  little  girl's  bare, 
red,  rapped  knuckles.  Away  in  a  box  to  the  right, 
close  by  the  stage,  was  the  Countess  with  her  hus- 
band ;  my  eyes  turned  often  toward  her  and  always 
found  hers  on  mine.  Again  as  a  child  I  ran  to  her, 
asking  to  be  loved ;  again  as  a  boy  I  loved  her  and 
wrung  from  her  reluctant  love ;  again  in  the  first 
vigour  and  unsparing  pride  of  my  manhood  I  sacri- 
ficed her  heart  and  my  delight.  Below  her,  standing 
near  the  orchestra,  was  Wetter ;  through  my  glass 
I  could  see  the  smile  that  never  left  his  face  as  he 
scanned  the  bedizened  row  in  which  I  sat.  There 
with  him,  looking  on,  jesting,  scoffing  at  the  parade, 
there  was  Nature's  place  for  me,  not  here  playing 
chief  part  in  the  comedy.  What  talks  and  what 
nights  had  we  had  together;  how  together  had  we 
fallen  from  heaven  and  ruefully  prayed  for  that  trick 
of  falling  soft !  See,  he  smiles  more  broadly !  What 
is  it  ?  Struboff  has  stolen  in  and  dropped  heavily  into 
a  seat.  Wetter  waved  a  hand  to  him  and  laughed. 
Laugh,  laugh,  Wetter!  It  is  your  only  gospel  and 
therefore  must  be  pardoned  its  inevitable  defects. 
Laugh  even  at  poor  Struboff  whose  stomach  is  so 
gross,  whose  feelings  so  fine,  who  may  not  give  his 
wife  a  piece  of  bread,  and  would  ask  no  greater  joy 
than  to  kiss  her  feet.  And  laugh  at  Varvilliers  too, 
who,  although  he  sits  where  he  has  a  good  view  of 
us,  never  turns  his  eyes  toward  the  lady  by  my  side, 
but  is  most  courteously  unobservant  of  her  alone 


AS  BEDERHOF  ARRANGED.        367 

among  all  the  throng.  Did  she  look  at  him?  Yes, 
for  he  will  not  look  toward  her.  Why,  we  are  all 
here,  all  except  Hammerfeldt,  who  looks  down  from 
heaven,  and  Coralie  who  is  coming  presently  to  sing 
us  the  wedding-song.  Even  Victoria's  Baron  is  here, 
and  Victoria's  sobs  of  terror  are  in  my  ears  again. 
Bederhof  and  his  fellows  are  behind  me.  The  real 
and  the  unreal,  the  dummies  and  the  men,  they  are 
all  here,  each  in  his  place  in  the  tableau.  When 
Coralie  comes,  we  shall  be  complete. 

The  opera  ended  and  the  curtain  fell.  There  was 
a  buzz  of  talk. 

"  Our  anthem  comes  now,  Elsa,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  crushing  the  bizarre  satin 
rag  of  a  programme  that  they  had  given  her.  "  I 
have  never  heard  Madame  Mansoni,"  she  added.  I 
glanced  at  her ;  there  was  a  blush  on  her  cheek.  She 
had  heard  of  Madame  Mansoni,  although  she  had 
not  heard  her  sing. 

I  put  up  my  glass  again  and  looked  at  Wetter.  He 
nodded  slightly  but  unmistakably,  then  flung  his  head 
back  and  laughed  again.  Now  we  waited  only  for 
Coralie.  With  her  coming  we  should  be  complete. 

The  music  began.  By  arrangement  or  impulse, 
I  knew  not  which,  everybody  rose  to  their  feet.  Only 
Elsa  and  I  sat  still.  The  curtain  rose  and  Coralie 
was  revealed  in  her  rare  beauty  and  her  matchless 
calm.  A  moment  later  the  great  full  feelingless  voice 
filled  the  theatre;  she  had  had  no  doubt  that  she 
could  fill  the  theatre.  I  saw  Struboff  leaning  back 
in  his  chair,  his  shoulders  eloquent  of  despair;  I 
saw  Wetter  with  straining  eyes  and  curling  lips,  Var- 
villiers  smiling  in  mischievous  remembrance  of  our 
rehearsal.  By  my  side  Elsa  was  breathing  quick  and 
fast.  I  turned  to  her;  her  eyes  were  sparkling  in 


368  THE   KING'S   MIRROR. 

triumph  and  excitement.  It  was  a  grand  moment. 
She  felt  my  glance ;  her  cheek  reddened,  her  eyes 
dropped,  her  lip  quivered ;  the  swiftest  covert  glance 
flew  toward  where  Varvilliers  was.  I  turned  away 
with  a  sort  of  sickness  on  me. 

Coralie's  voice  rose  and  fell,  chanting  out  her 
words.  The  deadness  of  her  singing  seemed  subtle 
mockery,  as  though  she  would  not  degrade  true  pas- 
sion to  the  service  of  this  sham,  as  though  the  words 
were  enough  for  such  a  marriage,  and  the  spirit 
scorned  to  sanction  it.  Elsa's  eyes  were  on  her  now, 
and  the  Countess  leaned  forward,  gazing  at  her.  The 
last  verse  came,  and  Coralie,  with  a  low  bow  and 
a  smile,  sang  it  direct  to  me — to  me  across  all  the 
theatre,  so  plainly  that  now  all  heads  were  turned 
from  her,  the  people  facing  round  and  looking  all  at 
me  and  at  Elsa  by  my  side.  Every  eye  was  on  us. 
The  song  ended.  A  storm  of  cheers  burst  out.  A 
short  gasp  or  sob  came  from  Elsa.  The  cheers 
swelled  and  swelled,  handkerchiefs  waved  in  the  air. 
I  rose  to  my  feet,  gave  Elsa  my  hand,  and  helped 
her  to  rise.  Then  together  we  took  a  step  forward 
and  bowed  to  all.  Silence  fell.  Coralie's  voice  rose 
again,  repeating  the  last  verse.  Now  all  the  chorus 
joined  in.  We  stood  till  the  song  ended  again,  and 
through  the  tempest  of  cheers.  There  had  been  no 
such  enthusiasm  in  Forstadt  within  the  memory  of 
man.  The  heart  of  the  people  went  forth  to  us ;  it 
was  a  triumph,  a  triumph,  a  triumph ! 

The  next  day  we  were  married,  and  in  the  evening 
my  wife  and  I  set  out  together  for  Artenberg.  This 
was  what  Bederhof  had  arranged. 

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One  of  the  most  remarkable  novels." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 


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D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S   PUBLICATIONS. 

BOOKS    BY    GRAHAM    TRAVERS. 

JXflNDYHAUGH.  A  Novel.  By  GRAHAM  TRAVERS, 
*   V    author  of  "  Mona  Maclean,  Medical  Student,"  "  Fellow  Travel- 
lers," etc.     I2mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

" '  Windyhaugh '  shows  an  infinitely  more  mature  skill  and  more  subtle  humor  than 
'Mona  Maclean '  and  a  profounder  insight  into  life.  The  psychology  in  Dr.  Todd's 
remarkable  book  is  all  of  the  right  kind ;  and  there  is  not  in  English  fiction  a  more 
careful  and  penetrating  analysis  of  the  evolution  of  a  woman's  mind  than  is  given  in 
Wilhelmina  Galbraith;  but  'Windyhaugh'  is  not  a  book  in  which  there  is  only  one 
'star' and  a  crowd  of  'supers.'  Every  character  is  limned  with  a  conscientious  care 
that  bespeaks  the  true  artist,  and  the  analytical  interest  of  the  novel  is  rigorously  kept 
in  its  proper  place  and  is  only  one  element  in  a  delightful  story.  It  is  a  supremely 
interesting  and  wholesome  book,  and  in  an  age  when  excellence  of  technique  has 
reached  a  remarkable  level,  'Windyhaugh'  compels  admiration  for  its  brilliancy  of 
style.  Dr.  Todd  paints  on  a  large  canvas,  but  she  has  a  true  sense  of  proportion." — 
BlackwoooTs  Magazine, 

"  For  truth  to  life,  for  adherence  to  a  clear  line  of  action,  for  arrival  at  the  point  to- 
ward which  it  has  aimed  from  the  first,  such  a  book  as  '  Windyhaugh  '  must  be  judged 
remarkable.  There  is  vigor  and  brilliancy.  It  is  a  book  that  must  be  read  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  and  that  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  have  read." — Boston  Journal. 

"  Its  easy  style,  its  natural  characters,  and  its  general  tone  of  earnestness  assure  its 
author  a  high  rank  among  contemporary  novelists. ""—Chicago  Tribune. 

"  We  can  cordially  eulogize  the  spendid  vitality  of  the  work,  its  brilliancy,  its  pathos, 
its  polished  and  crystalline  style,  and  its  remarkable  character-painting." — New  York 
Home  Journal. 

ON  A  MACLEAN,  Medical  Student.     i2mo,  paper, 
50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 
"  A  high-bred  comedy." — New  York  Times. 

" '  Mona  Maclean  '  is  a  bright,  healthful,  winning  story." — New  York  Mail  and 
Express. 

"Mona  is  a  very  attractive  person,  and  her  story  is  decidedly  well  told." — San 
Francisco  A  rgonaui. 

"  A  pleasure  in  store  for  you  if  you  have  not  read  this  volume.  The  author  has 
given  us  a  thoroughly  natural  series  of  events,  and  drawn  her  characters  like  an  artist. 
It  is  the  story  of  a  woman's  struggles  with  her  own  soul.  She  is  a  woman  of  resource, 
a  strong  woman,  and  her  career  is  interesting  from  beginning  to  end." — New  York 
Herald. 


M 


F 


ELLOW  TRAVELLERS.     i2mo,  paper,  50  cents  ; 
cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  stories  are  well  told ;  the  literary  style  is  above  the  average,  and  the 
character  drawing  is  to  be  particularly  praised.  .  .  .  Altogether,  the  little  book  is  a. 
model  of  its  kind,  and  its  reading  will  give  pleasure  to  people  of  taste." — Boston 
Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  '  Fellow  Travellers'  is  a  collection  of  very  brightly  written  tales,  all  dealing,  ns 
the  title  implies,  with  the  mutual  relations  of  people  thrown  together  casually  while 
traveling." — London  Saturday  Re-view. 


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L 


TWO   SUCCESSFUL   AMERICAN   NOVELS. 

ATITUDE  ip°.  A  Romance  of  the  West  Indies  in 
the  Year  of  our  Lord  1820.  Being  a  faithful  account  and  true; 
of  the  painful  adventures  of  the  Skipper,  the  Bo's'n,  the  Smith, 
the  Mate,  and  Cynthia.  By  Mrs.  SCHUYLER  CROWNINSHIELD. 
Illustrated.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  Latitude  19° '  is  a  novel  of  incident,  of  the  open  air,  of  the  sea,  the  shore,  the 
mountain  eyrie,  and  of  breathing,  living  entities,  who  deal  with  Nature  at  first  hand.  .  .  . 
The  adventures  described  are  peculiarly  novel  and  interesting.  .  .  .  Packed  with 
incidents,  infused  with  humor  and  wit,  and  faithful  to  the  types  introduced,  this  book 
will  surely  appeal  to  the  large  audience  already  won,  and  beget  new  friends  among 
those  who  believe  in  fiction  that  is  healthy  without  being  maudlin,  and  is  strong  with- 
out losing  the  truth." — New  York  Herald. 

"  A  story  filled  with  rapid  and  exciting  action  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  A 
fecundity  of  invention  that  never  lags,  and  a  judiciously  used  vein  of  humor." — 7'ht 
Critic. 

"  A  volume  of  deep,  undeniable  charm.  A  unique  book  from  a  fresh,  sure,  vigorous 
pen." — Boston  Journal. 

"  Adventurous  and  romantic  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  exacting  reader.  .  .  . 
Abounds  in  situations  which  make  the  blood  run  cold,  and  yet,  full  of  surprises  as  it  is, 
one  is  continually  amazed  by  the  plausibility  of  the  main  incidents  of  the  narrative. 
...  A  very  successful  effort  to  portray  the  sort  of  adventures  that  might  have  taken 
place  in  the  West  Indies  seventy  five  or  eighty  years  ago.  .  .  .  Very  entertaining  witft 
its  dry  humor." — Boston  Herald. 


A 


HERALD  OF  THE  WEST.  An  American 
Story  of  1811-1815.  By  J.  A.  ALTSHELER,  author  of  "A 
Soldier  of  Manhattan  "  and  "  The  Sun  of  Saratoga."  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  A  Herald  of  the  West '  is  a  romance  of  our  history  which  has  not  been  surpassed 
in  dramatic  force,  vivid  coloring,  and  historical  interest.  ...  In  these  days  when  the 
flush  of  war  has  only  just  passed,  the  book  ought  to  find  thousands  of  readers,  for  it 
teaches  patriotism  without  intolerance,  and  it  shows,  what  the  war  with  Spain  has 
demonstrated  anew,  the  power  of  the  American  neople  when  they  are  deeply  roused  by 
some  great  wrong." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  The  book  throughout  is  extremely  well  written.  It  is  condensed,  vivid,  pictu- 
resque. ...  A  rattling  good  story,  and  unrivaled  in  fiction  for  its  presentation  of  the 
American  feeling  toward  England  during  our  second  conflict." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Holds  the  attention  continuously.  .  .  .  The  book  abounds  in  thrilling  attractions. 
.  .  .  It  is  a  solid  and  dignified  acquisition  to  the  romantic  literature  of  our  own  coun- 
try, built  around  facts  and  real  persons." — Chicago  Times-Herald 

"  In  a  style  that  is  strong  and  broad,  the  author  of  this  timely  novel  takes  up  a 
nascent  period  of  our  national  history  and  founds  upon  it  a  story  of  absorbing  interest." 
—Philadelphia  Item. 

"  Mr.  Altsheler  has  given  us  an  accurate  as  well  as  picturesque  portrayal  of  the 
social  and  political  conditions  which  prevailed  in  the  republic  in  the  era  made  famous 
by  the  second  war  with  Great  Britain." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 


D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  GILBERT  PARKER. 

Uniform  Edition* 

The  Seats  of  the  Mighty. 

Being  the  Memoirs  of  Captain  Robert  MORAY,  sometime  an 
Officer  in  the  Virginia  Regiment,  and  afterwards  of  Amherst's 
Regiment.  Illustrated,  $1.50. 

"Another  historical  romance  of  the  vividness  and  intensity  of  'The  Seats 
of  the  Mighty'  has  never  come  from  the  pen  of  an  American.  Mr.  Parker's 
latest  work  may  without  hesitation  be  set  down  as  the  best  he  has  done.  From 
the  first  chapter  to  the  last  word  interest  in  the  book  never  wanes  5  one  finds 
it  difficult  to  interrupt  the  narrative  with  breathing  space.  It  whirls  with  ex- 
citement and  strange  adventure.  .  .  .  All  of  the  scenes  do  homage  to  the 
genius  of  Mr.  Parker,  and  make  *  The  Seats  of  the  Mighty '  one  of  the  books 
of  the  year." — Chicago  Record. 

"  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the  excellence  of  his  latest 
story,  'The  Seats  of  the  Mighty,'  and  his  readers  are  to  be  congratulated  on 
the  direction  which  his  talents  have  taken  therein.  ...  It  is  so  good  that  we 
do  not  stop  to  think  of  its  literature,  and  the  personality  of  Doltaire  is  a  mas- 
terpiece of  creative  art." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

The  Trail  of  the  Sword.    A  Novel.     $1.25. 

"  Mr.  Parker  here  adds  to  a  reputation  already  wide,  and  anew  demonstrates 
his  power  of  pictorial  portrayal  and  of  strong  dramatic  situation  and  climax." — 
Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

The  Trespasser.    $1.25. 

"Interest,  pith,  force,  and  charm — Mr.  Parker's  new  story  possesses  all 
these  qualities.  .  .  .  Almost  bare  of  synthetical  decoration,  his  paragraphs  are 
stirring  because  they  are  real.  We  read  at  times — as  we  have  read  the  great 
masters  of  romance — breathlessly."  —  The  Critic. 

The  Translation  of  a  Savage.    $1.25. 

"  A  book  which  no  one  will  be  satisfied  to  put  down  until  the  end  has  been 
matter  of  certainty  and  assurance." — The  Nation. 

Mrs.  Falchion.    $1.25. 

"A  well-knit  story,  told  in  an  exceedingly  interesting  way,  and  holding  the 
reader's  attention  to  the  end." 


The  Pomp  of  the  Lavilettes.     i6mo.     Cloth. 

"  Its  sincerity  and  rugged  force  will  commend  it  to  those  who  love  and  seek 
strong  work  in  fiction." — The  Critic. 

I).     APPLETON      A,ND      COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


A 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

BY  A.  CONAN    DOYLE. 

Uniform  edition.     121110.     Cloth,  $1.50  per  volume. 

DUET,  WITH  AN  OCCASIONAL  CHORUS. 

11  Charming  is  the  one  word  to  describe  this  volume  adequately.  Dr.  Doyle's 
crisp  style  and  his  rare  wit  and  refined  humor,  utilized  with  cheeriul  art  that  is  perfect 
of  its  kind,  fill  these  chapters  with  joy  and  gladness  for  the  reader." — Philadelphia 
Press. 

"  Bright,  brave,  simple,  natural,  delicate.  It  is  the  most  artistic  and  most  original 
thing  that  its  author  has  done.  .  .  .  We  can  heartily  recommend  '  A  Duet '  to  all  classes 
of  readers.  It  is  a  good  book  to  put  into  the  hands  of  the  young  of  either  sex.  It  will 
interest  the  general  reader,  and  it  should  delight  the  critic,  tor  it  is  a  work  of  art.  This 
story  taken  with  the  best  of  his  previous  work  gives  Dr.  Doyle  a  very  high  place  in 
modern  letters." — Chicago  Times- Herald. 

T  TNCLE  BERN  AC.     A  Romance  of  the  Empire. 

"  Simple,  clear,  and  well  defined.  .  .  .  Spirited  in  movement  all  the  way 
through.  ...  A  fine  example  of  clear  analytical  force." — Boston  Herald. 


T 


HE  EXPLOITS  OF  BRIGADIER  GERARD. 

A  Romance  of  the  Life  of  a  Typical  Napoleonic  Soldier. 

"Good,  stirring  tales  are  they.  .  .  .  Remind  one  of  those  adventures  indulged  in 
by  'The  Three  Musketeers.'  .  .  .  Written  with  a  dash  and  swing  that  here  and  th«re 
carry  one  away." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

DODNEY  STONE. 

•*-    *-       "A  notable  and  very  brilliant  work  of  genius."—  London  Speaker. 

"  Dr.  Doyle's  novel  is  crowded  with  an  amazing  amount  of  incident  and  excite- 
ment. .  .  .  He  does  not  write  history,  but  shows  us  the  human  side  of  his  great  men, 
living  and  moving  in  an  atmosphere  charged  with  the  spirit  of  the  hard-living,  hard- 
fighting  Anglo-Saxon." — New  York  Critic. 

T3OUND  THE  RED  LAMP. 

Being  Facts  and  Fancies  of  Medical  Life. 

"  A  strikingly  realistic  and  decidedly  original  contribution  to  modern  literature."— 
Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


T 


HE  STARK  MUNRO  LETTERS.    • 

Being  a  Series  of  Twelve  Letters  written  by  STARK  MUNRO,  M.  B., 
to  his  friend  and  former  fellow-student,  Herbert  Swanborough,  of 
Lowell,  Massachusetts,  during  the  years  1881-1884. 

"  Cullingworth.  ...  a  much  more  interesting  creation  than  Sherlock  Holmes,  and 
I  pray  Dr.  Doyle  to  give  us  more  of  him." — Richard  le  Gallienne,  in  the  London 
Star. 


D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S   PUBLICATIONS. 


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BY  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 

Uniform  edition.     Each,  lamo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

"HE     STANDARD    BEARER.       An    Historical 
Romance. 

"  Mr.  Crockett's  book  is  distinctly  one  of  the  books  of  the  year.'  Five  months  ef 
1898  have  passed  without  bringing  to  the  reviewers'  desk  anything  to  be  compared 
•with  it  in  beauty  of  description,  convincing  characterization,  absorbing  plot  and  humoi- 
ous  appeal.  The  freshness  and  sweet  sincerity  of  the  tale  are  most  invigorating,  and 
that  the  book  will  be  very  much  read  there  is  no  possible  doubt."—  Boston  Budget. 

"The  book  will  move  to  tears,  provoke  to  laughter,  stir  the  blood,  and  evoke  hero- 
isms of  history,  making  the  reading  of  it  a  delight  and  the  memory  of  it  a  stimulus  and 
a  joy."— New  York  Evangelist. 


L 


ADS'   LOVE.     Illustrated. 


"  It  seems  to  us  that  there  is  in  this  latest  product  much  of  the  realism  of  per- 
sonal experience.  However  modified  and  disguised,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  think  that 
the  writer's  personality  does  not  present  itself  in  Saunders  McQuhirr.  .  .  .  Rarely  has 
the  author  drawn  more  truly  from  life  than  in  the  cases  of  hance  and  'the  Hempie'; 
never  more  typical  Scotsman  of  the  humble  sort  than  the  farmer  Peter  Chrystie.  ' — 
London  A  thence um. 


c 


'LEG    KELLY,   ARAB    OF    THE    CITY.     His 

Progress  and  Adventures.     Illustrated. 

"A  masterpiece  which  Mark  Twain  himself  has  never  rivaled.  .  .  .  If  there  ever  was 
an  ideal  character  in  fiction  it  is  this  heroic  ragamuffin." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  In  no  one  of  his  books  dues  Mr.  Crockett  give  us  a  brighter  or  more  graphic 
picture  of  contemporary  Scotch  life  than  in  'Cleg  Kelly.'  .  .  .  It  is  one  of  the  great 
books." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 


B 


OG-MYRTLE  AND  PEAT.     Third  edition. 


;  Here  are  idyls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life,  written  in  words  that  thrill  and 
burn.  .  .  .  Each  is  a  poem  that  has  an  immortal  flavor.  They  are  fragments  of  the 
author's  early  dreams,  too  bright,  too  gorgeous,  too  full  of  the  blood  of  nibies  and  the 
life  of  diamonds  to  be  caught  and  held  palpitating  in  expression's  grasp." — Boston 
Courier. 

"  Hardly  a  sketch  among  them  all  that  will  not  afford  pleasure  to  the  reader  for 
its  genial  humor,  artistic  local  coloring,  and  admirable  portrayal  of  character. " — Boston 
Home  Journal. 


T 


LILAC   SUNBONNET.     Eighth  edition. 


"  A  love  story,  pure  and  simple,  one  of  the  old  fashioned,  wholesome,  sun- 
shiny kind,  with  a  pure  minded,  sound-hearted  hero,  and  a  heroine  who  is  merely  a 
good  and  beautiful  wormn;  and  if  any  other  love  story  hall  so  sweet  has  been  written 
this  year  it  has  escaped  our  notice." — New  York  Times. 

"  The  general  concepiion  of  the  story,  the  motive  of  which  is  the  growth  of  love 
between  the  young  chief  and  heroine,  is  delineated  with  a  sweetness  and  a  freshness, 
a  naturalness  and  a  certainty,  which  places  '  The  Lilac  'Sunbonnet '  among  the  best 
stories  of  the  time."—  Ne-M  York  Mail  and  Express. 


D.  APPLETON   AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


"A   BOOK   THAT    WILL   LIVE." 


D 


AVID  HARUM.     A  Story  of  American  Life.     By 
EDWARD  NOYES  WESTCOTT.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Mr.  Westcott  has  done  for  central  New  York  what  Mr  Cable,  Mr.  Page,  and 
Mr.  Harris  have  done  for  different  parts  of  the  South,  and  what  Miss  JeweJt  and  Miss 
Wilkins  are  doing  for  New  England,  and  Mr.  Hamlin  Garland  for  the  West.  .  .  . 
'David  Harum'  is  a  masterly  delineation  of  an  American  type.  .  .  .  Here  is  life  with 
all  its  joys  and  sorrows.  .  .  .  David  Harnm  lives  in  these  pages  as  he  will  live  in  the 
mind  of  the  reader.  .  .  .  He  deserves  to  be  known  by  all  good  Americans;  he  is  one 
of  them  in  boundless  energy,  in  large-heartedness,  in  shrewdness,  and  in  humor." — 
The  Critic. 

"  Thoroughly  a  pure,  original,  and  fresh  American  type.  David  Harum  is  a 
character  whose  qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  eccentricities,  and  dry  humor  will  win  for 
his  creator  notable  distinction.  Buoyancy,  life,  and  cheerfulness  are  dominant  notes. 
In  its  vividness  and  force  the  story  is  a  strong,  fresh  picture  of  American  life.  Original 
and  true,  it  is  worth  the  same  distinction  which  is  accorded  the  genre  pictures  of 
peculiar  types  and  places  sketched  by  Mr.  George  W.  Cable,  Mr.  Joel  Chandler 
Harris,  Mr.  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  Miss  Wilkins,  Miss  Jewett,  Mr.  Garland,  Miss 
French,  Miss  Murfree,  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker,  Mr.  Owen  Wister,  and  Bret  Harte.  .  .  . 
A  pretty  love  story  also  adds  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  book,  that  will  be  appreciated 
at  once  by  every  one  who  enjoys  real  humor,  strong  character,  true  pictures  of  life,  and 
work  that  is  '  racy  of  the  soil.'  " — Boston  Herald. 

"Mr.  \Vestcott  has  created  a  new  and  interesting  type.  .  .  .  The  character  sketch- 
ing and  building,  so  far  as  David  Harum  is  concerned,  is  well-nigh  perfect.  The  book 
is  wonderfully  bright,  readable,  and  graphic."—  JVew  York  Time's. 

"The  main  character  ought  to  become  familiar  to  thousands  of  readers,  and  will 
probably  take  his  place  in  time  beside  Joel  Chandler  Harris's  and  Thomas  Nelson 
Page's  and  Miss  Wilkins's  creations." — Chicago  Times- Her  aid. 

"  We  give  Edward  Noyes  Westcott  his  true  place  in  American  letters— placing 
him  as  a  humorist  next  to  Mark  Twain,  as  a  master  of  dialect  above  Lowell,  as  a 
descriptive  writer  equal  to  Bret  Harte,  and,  on  the  •  hole,  as  a  novelist  on  a  par  with 
the  best  of  those  who  live  and  have  their  being  in  the  heart  of  hearts  of  American 
readers.  If  the  author  is  dead— lamentable  fact — his  book  will  live." — Philadelphia 
Itcr* 

"  True,  strong,  and  thoroughly  alive,  with  a  humor  like  that  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
and  a  nature  as  sweet  at  the  core.  The  spirit  of  the  book  is  genial  and  wholesome,  and 
the  love  story  is  in  keeping  with  it.  ...  The  book  adds  one  more  to  the  interesting 
list  of  native  fiction  destined  to  live,  portraying  certain  localities  and  types  of  American 
life  and  manners." — Boston  Literary  World. 

"  A  notable  contribution  to  those  sectional  studies  of  American  life  by  which  our 
literature  has  been  so  greatly  enriched  in  the  past  generation.  ...  A  work  of  unusual 
ment  " — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  One  of  the  few  distinct  and  living  types  in  the  American  gallery."^^.  Louis 
Globe-  Democrat. 

"The  quaint  character  of 'David  Harum'  proves  to  be  an  inexhaustible  source  of 
amusement. —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  say  wherein  the  author  could  have  bettered  the  portrait  he 
sets  before  us."—  Providence  Journal. 

"  Full  of  wit  and  sweetness." — Baltimore  Herald. 

"  Merits  the  heartiest  and  most  unequivocal  praise.  ...  It  is  a  pleasure  to  call  the 
reader's  attention  to  this  strong  and  most  original  novel,  a  novel  that  is  a  decided  and 
most  enduring  addition  to  American  literature." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,   NEW  YORK. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


31*6,8 

1968 
RECEIVED 

JAN  2  7  '69  -12  PM 


FEB191991 


LD  21A-60m-3,'65 
(F2336slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


